Providence
by jenna51980
Summary: COMPLETED AU: The prequel to 'No Fate':In the midst of the war against evil, Chris and his friends endeavour to save their world, and Wyatt sends his deadliest assassin to stop his brother dead in his tracks.
1. Default Chapter

**Author's notes **

Okay, the summary doesn't make it seem so, but this is a Chris and Bianca story, I swear. This will be the first time where I will write a story where I haven't plotted everything out extensively beforehand, so please bear with me. My new goal is to write longer chapters – so that will likely mean fewer chapters and longer lag times between updates. Oh – and even though this is a prequel, don't read this story if you haven't at least read 'No Fate' as it won't make sense otherwise as there will be a lot of cris-crossing between the two stories.

(To people who are reading _Redundant _– I WILL finish that story. I promise. I'm just encountering a severe case of writer's block regarding the last chapter. I've been channelling that frustration into this story.)

**Summary **

The prequel to 'No Fate' finds Chris in the first leg of his journey on the road to the fulfillment of his destiny. In the midst of the war against evil, Chris and his rag tag team of friends endeavour to save their world, and Wyatt sends his deadliest assassin to stop his brother dead in his tracks.

Main Characters: Chris, Bianca

Secondary characters: Mainly Leslie and Darryl, as glimpsed from my 'No Fate' universe. Other characters from 'No Fate', such as Ben, Zach, etc may make an appearance as well – which is why you do need to read that story first. Please note that there is no plan for the Charmed Ones or Leo to appear in this story at the moment, though they may appear in flashbacks.

Rating: R, as this time, there will be extensive 'war/battle/action' scenes (I think) and very strong language, so consider yourselves forewarned.

Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance (I hope!)

**Please note also: **  
Telepathic thoughts will be bracketed by double colons and italics - _::for example::  
_All other formatting (e.g. emphasis, etc) will likely just be italicised.Providence

* * *

**Providence**

(The prequel to 'No Fate' and story #4 in the series.)

**Chapter 1 **

_What do I remember about those days at the beginning? …Anger, fear, despair – it seemed to permeate through the air, like a thickening fog rolling through the swamps at dusk. The unholy nights, the overwhelming feeling of evil running riot over the city. And yet – there was hope too. Frail, tender – just waiting for us to nurse it to life.  
_– From the journals of Chris Halliwell

* * *

_San Francisco, circa 2022 _

Light blazed across the midnight sky.

The hair on the back of his neck rose, just before Leslie ducked instinctively. He felt the fiery heat from the fireball on the back of his neck, as it narrowly missed him, swooshing above him and smashing the front window of the jeep into oblivion.

"Go, go, go, go, go!" Chris yelled as he tore down the alley, hopping into the back of the jeep.

Leslie stomped down on the gas pedal, and the vehicle shot forward from its hiding place in the shadows of the alley way. As the jeep skidded onto the road, fire rained down from the sky, as Leslie jerked the steering wheel this way and that, frantically trying to avoid the fireballs.

"They're gaining on us!"

"Thanks for the newsflash, kid!" Leslie yelled back, derisively. "Tell me something I don't know already."

Chris ignored his friend. There were a half dozen demons on their tail, trackers by the looks of them. While incredibly stupid, the demons were unbelievably fast, and worst, direct magic didn't work on them. Wyatt had somehow managed to warp the creatures, giving them bony hide plates as well, making them near impossible for the Resistance to kill. And making them Wyatt's most effective minions.

Grimacing, Chris surveyed the pack behind him, looking for a way to throw their enemies off. Burned out ruins and remains of buildings smouldered in the night, the skeletal frames lining the streets. Most of the city had been obliterated in the first wave of the attacks, when Wyatt had first decided to establish his rule. Waving his hand, he concentrated, using his telekinesis to _jerk_ the remains of the building on his left – pulling on the debris, causing it to tumble forward, landing on the ground in front of the trackers, flattening a couple of them under the pile of rocks.

Tires squealing, Leslie yanked the steering wheel to the left, causing the jeep to precariously lean to the side, the tires on the right spinning uselessly in the air before the jeep slammed down on all four wheels again.

"We gotta ditch the jeep! We'll have better luck losing them on foot!" Chris yelled from behind Leslie, as he surveyed their pursuers behind them.

"This is our last vehicle Chris! We can't ditch it!" Leslie yelled back, glancing over his shoulder at the young whitelighter. Chris' hands were wrapped tightly around the jeep's frame as he clung on for dear life. Chris nearly tumbled out as the jeep suddenly jerked again to the left as Leslie barely missed the pothole in the road ahead. Braking hard, Leslie fought for control of the wildly careening jeep, as it veered off the badly damaged road.

"One jeep isn't going to win the war, Les! We've got to ditch it! Now!" Chris yelled, turning in his seat to see the pack of demons charging behind them. "Right now we're a moving target, with a huge bulls eye on our back. We need to get back underground, and we can lose them in the tunnels."

"Can't you just orb us?" Leslie yelled back, his attention focused on the bumpy terrain. He heard a loud bang, and felt a sharp drag on the steering wheel, indicating to him that they had likely blew a wheel.

"Ben finally got that blocking spell to work – no can do. We gotta make our way back on foot," Chris shot back over his shoulder as using his telekinesis he waved away a fireball hurling towards them.

"I thought you said you wrote the spell so that it would just block _demons_ from shimmering in!"

"Look – not everything always goes according to plan, okay? Case in point!" Chris replied angrily, his attention split between keeping watch out the back of the jeep and arguing with his friend. As he refocused his attention back over his shoulder, "Holy _sh-t_! Incoming! Jump!"

The two men leapt out of the moving jeep, just as a bolt of energy crashed down from the sky, completely destroying the vehicle with a violent explosion. Smoke filled the air, and flames climbed the sky, arising from the crater that was all that was left of their jeep.

Leslie groaned, as he struggled to get to his feet, every muscle and bone in his body aching. Leaping from a speeding vehicle was suicidal, to say the least, if it wasn't for the fact that Chris had used his telekinesis ability to 'soften' their landing. His eyes watered from the smoke, which was much more than he would have expected the destruction of the jeep to generate when he realized Chris' was murmuring.

Releasing the spell, Chris covered his nose with his sleeve, indicating to Leslie to do the same. "I used my magic to increase the smoke, to hopefully give us enough cover to lose those demons."

Nodding his appreciation, Leslie proceeded to cover his nose as well, by pulling up the collar of his t-shirt over his nose. Jerking his head to the left, Leslie pointed to one of the abandoned buildings in the once downtown core of the city. "I think we can enter the tunnels through there."

Without further discussion, the two men began to jog towards the building, crouching low to avoid the smoke cloud as much as possible. The angry noise of demons arguing amongst themselves on how to proceed sounded less than 20 feet away, indicating just how precarious their situation was.

Slipping by the group of demons, the two men silently entered the abandoned building, searching for the emergency staircase. Chris blinked, pausing just inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the bit of light from the moon that gave the room a soft glow. Following his friend, the two stuck to the sides of the room, covered in shadows, as they edged their way to the door at the back. Cautiously, Leslie opened the door, wincing as the heavy metal door gave out a loud squeak. When no demons jumped out at them, he sighed, and quickly entered the back staircase, and proceeded to descend, with Chris right behind him.

The flickering lights from the emergency lighting provided just enough of a light source to allow the two Resistance fighters to descend the stairs. Further and further, the two descended, until they couldn't go any further. Opening the door at the bottom of the stairwell, Leslie cautiously poked his head around. He paused – for just a moment, using his telepathic abilities to 'look' for any signs of life. Reading nothing, the telepath exited the stairwell, indicating for Chris to follow him.

Before them lay a steel concourse, one of the many underground structures that were connected by a multitude of tunnels beneath the city. In its prior life, it had been an underground shopping concourse, much like an underground city, linked to numerous buildings in the downtown San Francisco area. Now it served as the home base of the Resistance.

The tunnels were mainly unguarded; the complicated layout acted in favour of the Resistance against those unfamiliar with the miles of underground tunnels, as in this case, demons. Because of the destruction of the buildings above ground, and the resulting damage beneath, not all tunnels were safe due to the instability of the foundations and some ended in dead ends. The 'no-orbing' spell, coupled with the cloaking spell that the Resistance used to 'hide' the location of the base, had allowed the Resistance to effectively hide from their enemies and was as safe a location that could be found in the city.

Lights flickered on and off, contributing to the moving shadows against the walls. It was empty…silent…dark. As the two carefully padded across the concourse, their footsteps seemed to echo and bounce off the walls of the deserted hall. It was after the destruction of the city, that the first buds of the Resistance had grown here, in the underground.

_::So since you're empty handed, I'm guessing you didn't get it::_

Chris glared at his friend's back, as he thought, knowing Leslie would read his thoughts, _::No, I didn't get it. You were right. Happy?::_

::Oh yeah, really happy. I woke up this morning and thought – what a great day to go on a suicidal mission and practically die for no good reason.::

Chris snorted softly. _::I thought sarcasm was my forte.::_

_::Sarcasm is your b-tch. It's MY forte.::_

Chris rolled his eyes. _::How far is it to base again?::_

* * *

The interior of the strong hold was grim and gray…the fortress perpetually cold.

She stood before him…unmoving…unafraid. After all, she was a Phoenix – the most deadly type of witch assassins ever.

Rather, she _appeared_ to be unafraid.

Slowly, she moved toward the man seated in a high backed chair at the far end of the huge chamber.

Power.

Inside, she was shaking. She could feel the thrust of power as soon as she had entered the door. It was strong, compelling…evil.

She had expected power – he was the 'twice blessed.' But she hadn't expected _this_…not this sense of cold, stark evil. When it came down to it, he was mortal, and had had a family once.

He watched her, lazily, like a tiger toying with its prey. His lips pulled back into a sinister smile, "I am told that you are a great warrior, but I have my grave doubts."

She burned with humiliation.

His faint smile was chilling. "I have a job for you. If you complete it, I will reward you. If you do not, you had best be dead."

Waving his hand in front of a pool of water, he indicated for the Phoenix to come closer. Peering over the side, she watched as the ripples formed an image of a young man.

"That is my brother."

Blinking, the assassin jerked her head up to stare at Wyatt in disbelief. "I was told that all your family perished during the…event."

Wyatt shrugged. "All those that mattered. My brother – was out of my reach, at the time. Given his lesser powers, I gave him no further thought. At the time."

She waited patiently for him to continue.

"It has now come to my attention that _my brother_ has had the _audacity_ to actually try to organize a rebel force against me." Wyatt spat with disgust. "Ungrateful brat."

Her right eyebrow rose, "You mean, the Resistance?"

Wyatt nodded, unsurprised that knowledge of the rebel force had perpetrated into his stronghold. "What do you know of this Resistance?"

She shrugged, "I have heard that there is a group of witches and mortals trying to form an organized front in a futile effort. They stick to the shadows, mostly targeting 'hit and run' missions. A nuisance, really."

Wyatt's fist slammed down on the nearby table, rattling the dishes and glasses on the surface. "At first I thought to let little Christopher have his fun. But lately he had become more and more annoying. Taking things that don't belong to him, like the books from Magic School, or interfering with my demons as they establish my rule over the mortals. He is becoming a thorn in my side."

The Phoenix nodded. "And so you wish for me to?"

"I wish for you to eliminate him! Kill him! I cannot allow my own brother to muster any kind of resistance against my rule. The demons would think me weak, emotional – human. This must end, now – before I have my own uprising," Wyatt bit out angrily. "My demons have told me they have spotted him on the outskirts of city, even as we speak. I need you to leave immediately." He nodded at the demon standing by the door, "He will take you where you need to go."

"Do not fail me."

Nodding her agreement, she bowed, and headed towards the door of the chamber. Her hand on the doorknob, she paused, as she glanced back over her shoulder.

"Consider it done."

* * *

_Amateurs_, she thought, as she picked up the russet coloured thread, where it had been caught on a piece of wire. She spat in disgust. It was like taking candy from babies. _No challenge._

Swiftly, she moved through the darkened halls, moving stealthily on the balls of her feet to avoid making noise. Up ahead, she could hear the two as they made their way through the tunnels. To them, they were moving quietly, but to her, an experienced tracker and assassin, every footfall was like a banging on a drum.

She had shimmered to just outside the city with Wyatt's demon, one of his 'lieutenants', if she remembered correctly. She had arrived on the scene just as the vehicle had gone up in smoke. She had signalled the demons to remain where they were, preferring to hunt her quarry alone. Trailing them into the tunnels had been tricky – Wyatt's lieutenant had mentioned that her prey was travelling with a telepath. Not wanting to alert them to her presence she had stayed far behind at first – she knew that the telepath would unlikely use his powers after an initial scan. _Fools_, she thought, _letting petty little things like ethics interfere with using their powers. At least it makes my job a lot easier._

She had been trailing them for some time now, wanting to lull them into a false sense of security. The only downside to this was she couldn't shimmer out if things got hairy. Somehow, the witches had cast some kind of blocking spell – she could practically feel it imposing on her powers. Scowling, she ignored it – highly unlikely that she would encounter any problems with taking out the two men. They were like babes in the woods, after all.

Moving nearer, she tilted her head to the side, listening – she could tell there was, indeed, only two of them. Whispering, the two were making enough noise to raise an army, in her humble opinion. If Wyatt's demons were correct, then one of them was indeed the leader of the Resistance. Her lips curled in a sneer, _What kind of leader performs missions himself? He's practically asking for me to take him out. _

She was within 15 feet of them. In the flickering light, she could just make out the shape of two men. Slowly, she unsheathed her dagger. She smiled as she felt the weight of it in the palm of her hand and the feel of the cold metal against her skin. Palming it, she snuck closer, creeping against the side of the walls, where the shadows provided just enough darkness to cloak her movements.

One of the men paused, turning slightly, "Did you hear something?" His companion ignored his friend, continuing forward.

She blinked, recognizing the profile of the young man as her target.

"Les – I thought I saw…"

And she launched herself at him.

* * *

He and Les had been travelling for some time now. Long enough for them to establish that they were alone in the tunnels. Quickly reverting to speech, Chris asked, his tone low, "Did you send ahead to let them know we're coming?"

Leslie nodded. They had ceased communicating by telepathy as soon as Leslie had established the all clear. Although good friends, Leslie still understood the discomfort Chris had with sharing _all_ his thoughts with him 24/7. Respectful of his friend's privacy, and of other's, Leslie had never abused his power. Besides, if he let down his shield all the time, he would likely go crazy from all the 'noise' other people's thoughts caused.

The hair on the back of Chris' neck prickled, causing him to whisper, "Did you hear something?"

Leslie kept moving forward, obviously not hearing his friend's question. Chris paused, his eyes scanning the shadows. What had Darryl said to him?_ 'Listen to you gut, kid. It's your best defence.'_

Tensing, Chris thought he saw a slither of movement in the shadows, "Les – I thought I saw…"

_Crap!_

Instinctively, he pack-pedaled as the shadows seemed to launch themselves at him. He winced, as he felt a burning sensation across his chest as the metal of a dagger diagonally sliced him across his upper body. Using his telekinesis, he waved his right hand, flinging his attacker against the wall, clutching his chest with his left. Gasping at the white, hot pain currently searing his chest, he staggered back against the nearest wall, glancing down to watch the warm, red blood flow through his fingers and gush onto the ground beneath his feet.

Hissing, the assassin rushed towards her prey again, only to be met by Leslie. Grappling with her, Leslie kicked out at her, narrowly missing the slash of the dagger. Stumbling back, he began to cautiously circle the woman, one eye on her, the other on his friend, who was leaning closely against the wall of the tunnel, bleeding heavily. "Give it up lady. I'm a telepath – and I've already called for help. You're going to have twenty Resistance fighters descending on your sorry piece of ass in five minutes."

She watched patiently, waiting for an opening. Knowing it would be just a matter of moments before she was discovered, and buoyed by the fact that she _could not_ fail, she _threw_ her dagger. But not at Leslie.

At Chris.

Unable to stop her in time, Leslie reached out uselessly with his hand to try to stop the flight of the dagger. He watched, as if everything was in slow motion, knowing he would never make it in time.

Chris pushed himself away from the wall, and with his other hand, using his telekinesis again, _hurled_ the dagger to his left, embedding it deeply into the far wall. Exhausted, Chris slid down to the floor with a thump, drained from the combination of the loss of blood and using his magical powers in such a weakened condition.

Reassured that Chris was still alive, Leslie whipped around to confront the woman, ready to grab her. Already, he could hear the pounding of feet as the cavalry neared.

But she was gone.

"Les! Chris! Everything okay?"

Five men suddenly appeared, seemingly materializing out of the darkness of the tunnels. All dressed in black, Leslie recognized the team leader as one of their friends, Zach.

Glancing over at Chris, who was pale as a ghost, Leslie rushed over to his friend, putting his arm under one of Chris' shoulders, "Help me up with him. We've got to get him back to base to a whitelighter. Now."

Motioning with his hand, Zach indicated for his team to pick up the young leader of the Resistance. He peered over his shoulder into the darkness, "What happened?"

"Long story." Leslie shot a glance into the darkness behind him, jerking his head in the direction behind them. "Make sure no one follows us."

Zach nodded. "I'm on it."

* * *

"Are you going to be all right?" Leslie asked, as he entered the infirmary.

"Just dandy," Chris grimaced, as he waved away the whitelighter, nodding his thanks. Taking the hint, the whitelighter left the room, nodding goodbye as she passed Leslie on her way out. "It's just too bad that magic can't fix my shirt too."

Scooting out of the way, Leslie moved forward into the room, eyeing the blood on his friend's shirt. While shallow, the cut had still generated enough blood to make it look like Chris was bleeding like a stuck pig, and as a result, thoroughly soaked Chris' shirt in the process. "You were damn lucky. That lady was a professional. I've never seen anyone move that fast."

Chris closed his eyes, leaning his back against the wall where he was seated on a counter. His stomach felt a bit queasy, and with a will of iron, he forced himself to calm down and quelled his queasiness. _So much for brotherly bonds._ Opening one eye, "Can we talk about something else instead?"

"All right. How about Darryl wants to see you in the command room stat?"

Gingerly hopping down from the counter, Chris looked down at his blood-stained shirt, "I think I had better change first."

Leslie grinned, "No time."

Quirking his eyebrow at his friend, Chris asked warily, noting Leslie's amused smirk, "What does that mean exactly?"

Leslie's grin widened, waving his hand indicating that Chris should leave the room first, "You'll see. After you."

Still eyeing his friend suspiciously, Chris moved towards the door, and exited. Immediately two men stepped forward, one on each side of him. Chris groaned, "You have got to be kidding me."

"Sorry, Chris. Darryl's orders," Zach shrugged. "We're to escort you to the command room."

Chris sighed. He knew it was useless to argue. He might be the so-called 'leader' of the Resistance, but when push came to shove, Darryl held quite a hold over the core group. Especially when he claimed to be acting in Chris' 'best interests'; in this case – assigning him two bodyguards. "Let's just go, okay?"

Leslie, Zach and the other man whom Chris didn't recognize quickly fell back, tailing Chris as he made his way through the steel tunnels of the underground base. Passing some of his friends, he smiled slightly at their faces, as they were clearly shocked by his blood-soaked tee-shirt. He smirked to himself, thinking about the rumours his injury would make before nightfall.

Entering the command room, he nodded at the telepaths currently seated around a table. The telepaths were the Resistance's key advantage in the war against Wyatt. Having telepaths allowed the Resistance to keep tabs with their scout teams instantaneously, communicating orders literally at the speed of thought. Wyatt's demons couldn't counteract the effectiveness of the Resistance's communication system because, as demons, they couldn't trust each other enough to allow telepathy amongst themselves. It was this weakness that Chris thoroughly exploited when he had first worked with Darryl to establish the Resistance.

In the background, he could hear Leslie and Zach murmur, before Zach and the other bodyguard left the command room. After all, if Chris wasn't safe here, he wasn't safe anywhere.

Turning his attention to the sound of a door opening, Chris noticed Darryl frowning at him from the entranceway of a smaller meeting room connected to the main command room. Rolling his eyes, he walked towards his good friend, shutting the door behind him.

Studying Darryl from beneath his eyelashes, Chris was briefly reminded of the early days in the wake of Wyatt's domination. Cold, hungry and scared – Darryl and Chris had huddled together, laying down the foundation of what would become the Resistance. Together, the two had used their contacts – Darryl with the mortal world, and Chris with the magical one, to establish a base of operations as quickly as possible. While Wyatt had turned his demons on the loose, kidnapping people, demanding the extinction of all witches and threatening to wipe out what little remained of the human race, Darryl had quietly recruited his friends from the police force, who in turn recruited their friends. Chris had worked with the whitelighters to evacuate as many witches as possible, working with them to hide and cloak their presence from Wyatt's army of demons. Working with his honourary uncle in such close quarters, Chris had developed a healthy respect for him – relating to him as an adult now, but with the affection only a long time family friend could generate. It was this affection that gave Chris the patience to deal with his friend now.

Darryl immediately launched into a tirade.

Biting his lip, Chris waited patiently for his friend to finish. It was amazing – here he was, the 'leader' of the Resistance, and he was still being yelled at. _Talk about no respect._ Chris allowed himself a small smile, _Just like old times._

"I told you before Chris, and I'll say it again – you just can't go running off every time some hare-brained idea enters your head! There's a chain of command here. You, better than anyone, have to understand that!" Darryl finally concluded his lecture rather forcefully.

"And I told you – I won't, no, I _can't_ send other people to do something I wouldn't do myself. Darryl, as much as you don't want to admit it, sometimes I'm the best person for the mission. I've got the skills _and_ the knowledge, something that I can use to my advantage. End of story. It could make the difference between a suicidal mission and just a risky one," Chris replied wearily. This wasn't the first time they had had this argument.

"And that's exactly my point! Chris – _you _have the knowledge. Not just because you were the son of a Charmed One, but also because you know Wyatt best. You can guess his moves, as you've proven time and again. Everyone is counting on you. If something happened to you, if something went wrong – where would the Resistance be?"

Chris began to pace. "I weighed the pros and cons in my head. The pros far outweighed the cons, Darryl. At the end of the day, I know the Resistance would still continue, because you'd continue it. Let's face it – you know Wyatt just as well as I do. Maybe even better, given you've had the advantage of observing from an adult perspective all his life. And Ben's magical knowledge far outweighs mine. He's been at it longer, and he has had the advantage of working with the Charmed Ones as an adult. Frankly – sometimes I just don't remember stuff exactly right." Chris paused, as brief memories of happier times flooded his conscious, "It's been a long time."

Darryl sighed, knowing that whatever arguments he had, Chris had as convincing counterarguments. He took one last stab, "You do realize he's obviously sending assassins after you now. He's never done that before. That's upping the ante."

Chris grimaced slightly. "On the one side, I'm flattered. Obviously, Wyatt thinks I'm finally a big enough threat for him to send someone after me directly after ignoring me all this time. That must mean we're doing something right. On the other hand, it's not everyday you learn your only family has put a price on your head."

Darryl's eyes dropped, keeping silent.

Chris continued, "Besides which, if you don't trust the people in our own base, who can you trust? It's a waste of resources, Darryl, assigning a couple of people to watch my back. I've got missions I need someone with Zach's abilities to perform, and I certainly don't need anyone but Les to watch my back in the field."

Darryl's jaw tightened. "You think I'm overreacting."

Chris shrugged. "Just a bit. Frankly – I'm expendable. Face it, Darryl. You and everyone else here could carry on just fine without me. We set it up that way, remember?"

Darryl grimaced his agreement. Moving over to the solitary desk in the room, he flipped open a book, stabbing his finger at something, "So did you get it?"

Chris stopped his pacing, looking over at Darryl. "I'm sure Les told you I came back empty handed."

"And now I want to hear it from you," Darryl replied.

Shrugging, Chris picked up a pencil from the desk, absently twirling it with his fingers, "Everything went according to plan. I snuck into the Manor, went straight to the attic. Found the Book."

"So why didn't you take it?" Darryl asked, his expression confused. "Wasn't that the whole point of this little exercise?"

Chris threw the pencil down on the desk with frustration, "Except it wasn't the Book. It was…some sort of…_holographic_ image of the Book!"

"He must have moved it to a more secure location. Makes sense, really. After all, we had just gone after the books at Magic School. Logic stands to reason that we'd try to take the Book of Shadows as well," Darryl replied, sympathetically.

"Yeah, well – it sucks," Chris grumbled, "And we were so damn close. Remind me to tear a strip off of Phinks next time," referring to one of the demons that they used to gain some inside information on Wyatt. "That was some lousy intel."

Darryl relaxed a little. "It'll be my pleasure. I'll make sure to bring it up, don't you worry. I never liked that guy."

Moving over to the chair opposite Darryl's, Chris plopped himself down, "So how goes the council stuff?"

Darryl glared at the younger man, "Have I mentioned how many times I hate this idea? I'm telling you, Chris, the more people you get involved, the more bureaucracy you're going to create and nothing will get accomplished."

Leaning forward, Chris grabbed the recently abused pencil off the desk and began to scribble some notes, "Darryl – I admit, it's not going to be easy, but it's the right thing to do. Get it done. I want the first council session up and running by next week."

For someone who claimed he wasn't a leader, Darryl acknowledged that Chris gave commands like he did. With a pointed stare, he replied evenly, "I'm having trouble filling some of the spots. This shouldn't be a popularity contest, you know."

Finished scribbling, Chris tossed the piece of paper to Darryl, and got up from his seat. "I've written down a couple of suggestions. Make it happen, Darryl."

Darryl picked up the piece of paper, studying it, before exclaiming incredulously, "You've got to be kidding me. I can't believe you have him down here as a possibility. The guy's a pompous bastard."

Chris opened the door, exiting the room. "Next week, Darryl."

Cursing, Darryl yelled at his friend's back, "But – come on, Chris. Odin?!?"

* * *

"So what was Darryl yelling about?" Leslie asked, jogging alongside Chris, as they quickly made their way through the base. "And where are we going in such a hurry?"

The former shopping mall had been retrofitted as much as possible to accommodate the Resistance and its human population. More than ten kilometres in length, the current corridor that they were passing housed most of the Resistance fighters. Previously stores, the units had been converted into quarters for the thousands inside the base.

"Darryl was yelling about the council stuff again. And _I'm_ going to my quarters to change my shirt. I don't know where _you're_ going," Chris said, rather pointedly.

"Heh. Yeah, I gotta admit – you've been frightening a lot of kiddies with that shirt," Leslie wisecracked, swallowing his chuckles, as the two came to a halt in front of Chris' quarters.

Chris stopped to turn and glare at his friend, "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

Leslie smiled innocently, "Not at the moment, boss. I'll just stand out here and do some people watching."

"Oh for Pete's sake," Chris grumbled. The door to his quarters resembled those of submarines, made of heavy metal and complete with a wheel as the locking mechanism. He gripped the wheel of the door to his quarters, rapidly turning it to unlock the door and pushed it open. Stepping over the ledge, he entered his quarters, indicating for Leslie to follow him inside. "Just tell me where we stand on rations."

Shrugging, Leslie entered Chris' quarters, closing the door behind him. The room, about twelve by twenty feet, was one of the largest on base. Sparsely furnished with a bed, couch, and a small table with a couple of chairs, it was unnaturally tidy. He watched as Chris grabbed a shirt from a metal cabinet that served as his closet and then disappear into the bathroom at the back of the room. Seating himself at the table, Leslie shouted over the running water, "Zach says our biggest problem right now is fresh water. We just don't have access to a fresh water source. And the bottled water we got on the last run isn't going to last much longer."

Chris emerged from the bathroom in a clean t-shirt, chucking the blood-stained one into a nearby trash receptacle. "Define 'much longer.'"

Leaning forward, Leslie rested his elbows on the table, "Three weeks, give or take a day, even with everyone on strict rations."

Rubbing his face wearily, Chris paced back and forth. He had a tendency to do so when he wanted to think. "We're bloody right on the coastline. There's got to be some kind of fresh water source accessible to us somewhere."

Leslie shook his head. "The ocean's salt water. We can't drink that."

Chris rolled his eyes, "I admit I only have a high school education, but I'm not an idiot, Les. What I meant was, there's got to be rivers or streams or something that would run back into the sea, right?"

Leslie's expression was a complete blank. "How the hell would I know? I was a cop before all this happened."

Chris snapped his fingers, pointing at Leslie excitedly. "There's got to be maps, right? Maps of bodies of water. All we need to do is find some of those maps. Once we know where a good sized _underground_ body of fresh water is, maybe we can extend the base to cover it."

Leslie regarded Chris rather skeptically, "And where do you propose we find these maps?"

"Wouldn't city hall have some for urban planning? Or the library at Berkley?" Chris hazarded a guess.

Leslie nodded slowly, "I hate to say it, but I think you're onto something, kid."

Exasperated, Chris rolled his eyes at the 'kid' comment. First Darryl and now Les. _Who the hell was the leader here, anyways?_ He had never wanted to be, but somehow it had been pushed upon him. And yet, he still couldn't get any respect from the very people who insisted he 'lead'. "Just put something together, okay? Go find Ben and see if you can round up a couple of people who worked at city hall or studied at Berkley. They might be able to help us narrow down which location would be the best place to do some recon. Work out two plans, just in case one of the locations has been completely destroyed."

Nodding, Leslie got up from his chair. "I'm on it. And what are you going to do?"

Chris pointed at a stack of papers sitting in a pile at the other end of the table. "I've got a ton of scouting reports I need to review. Think you can meet back here in a couple of hours and have a plan ready to discuss?"

Leslie gave his friend the thumbs up, "Of course. Oh and Chris?"

"Hmmmm?" Chris murmured, his nose already buried in the reports.

"Lock the door behind me, will ya? I'd hate to have to rescue your butt for a second time today," Leslie grinned, slamming the door behind him.

Chris glared at the door, muttering to himself, "No respect, I tell you. No respect."

* * *

He was angry.

She had been one of his best. Actually she _had_ been the best. That was why he had gifted her with such an important mission.

All she had to do was eliminate his problem. He had provided her with all the tools she needed, even locating her prey for her, practically handing his brother to her on a silver platter. _Incompetent fool_, he sneered.

And now, because of _her_ failure, he had had to lose best assassin.

Obedience was a tricky thing. Demons, on the most part, were stupid. However, any sign of weakness would give them….ideas. Only their fear of him, the knowledge of the swift retribution that awaited them if they so much as hinted at insubordination kept them obedient.

She had left him no choice. He had told her if she did not succeed, than she had best be dead. She had ignored his warning, choosing instead to pathetically fling herself at his feet in mercy.

But an example had to be made. He had no time to deal with failures or usurpers. All thoughts of disobedience had to be culled in the herds. Fear of what he would do to them kept them in line. It reminded them of why he was the one who was in charge. Why he was the one who ruled. Why he was the 'twice-blessed.'

He watched as the demons dragged the remains away.

He clenched his fist in frustration.

His lieutenant bowed deeply, "Should I summon another one, my lord?"

Scowling, Wyatt bit out, "And what good would that do? She was the best. _The_ best! Summoning another sub par assassin isn't going to solve my problem." Waving his hand in disgust at the suggestion, "Bah! It's not like I have any other options. Summon another one. Eventually one of these useless witch-assassins is bound to succeed."

The demon bowed again, "I have watched this coven of witches, and the next best would be the assassin's daughter. She is young, not as experienced as her mother, but skilful. She –,"

Wyatt interrupted, "Wait! Did you say 'daughter'?"

The demon nodded.

Reclining in his chair, brooding, as he turned the words over in his head. His thumb absently caressed the arm of his chair, gliding along the wood sinisterly. _A daughter…_"Summon her at once." As the demon turned to leave, Wyatt held out his hand, "Wait. Make sure her mother's remains have been fully removed first. After all, we don't want to upset her. Oh – and don't tell her anything about her mother. I wish to break the news to her myself."

Bowing deeply, the demon backed away slowly, exiting the room to accomplish his task.

_You surprised me, Chris._ Wyatt smiled to himself viciously. _I never expected you'd be able to hold your own. I underestimated you. I won't do that again. No…this time, this time I'm going to find out exactly how many you've recruited into your little cult. And then I'll eliminate you and your little friends, too._

To be continued….


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews – I don't think I would have tried to work on my writing skills if it hadn't been for the encouragement. BTW, in case you didn't notice, my vision of the future (as in 'No Fate') is decidedly darker than what they hinted at on the show. A departure from canon, I know – but then, aren't all fan fics such?

**Providence **

**Chapter 2**

_Wyatt Halliwell had turned the world into a landscape of perpetual killing and dying – where one waged a daily battle for survival, and where pain, misery and death ruled supreme. Homes were deserted as the demon activity made it too dangerous for any innocent to live above ground. Most of the innocents who had fled Wyatt's demons had taken shelter underground with the Resistance. However, there were those who were too scared to muster any resistance to Wyatt and his army of demons. Those that bowed down to Wyatt's dominance were directed to labour for Wyatt and his demons. After all, evil still needed to feed. The mortals tilled the fields, minded the herds and served the demons. It seemed like mankind would soon become extinct, except for one symbol of hope. The Resistance was that beacon of hope shining in the night – faint, but unmistakably there. _

– Chronicles of The Charmed Ones, Vol. CCXXX

* * *

It was his birthday.

Nineteen years old. He was supposed to be in his freshman year of college. Drinking… …partying…flirting with the opposite sex. Maybe even studying.

Instead Chris was some fifty odd metres below the ground hiding from demons in an abandoned underground mall worrying about the safety of thousands. If you had asked him a year ago what he would be doing on his birthday, it certainly wouldn't have been this. In fact, if anyone had even suggested such a scenario, he would have quietly agreed with them, and then quickly contacted the nearest authorities to have the individual carted away by the little men in white coats.

He picked up the photo frame sitting prominently on the table, one of his family that he had managed to save since that fateful day.

It had practically happened overnight. He still wasn't sure what had happened exactly. One minute, he had been filling out college applications getting ready to go on some on-site campus tours, and then the next – everything went to hell in a hand basket.

Sure, Chris had noticed that Wyatt had seemed to be moodier that year but Chris had just figured that the pressure of being the 'twice blessed' was starting to get to his brother. Chris had asked Wyatt, repeatedly, whether or not things were okay and had nearly had his head snapped off. _I'm fine, Chris_, his brother would sneer. Chris had shrugged it off believing that if there was really something serious troubling his elder brother, Wy would have told him.

After all – they were brothers. They looked out for each other.

_Did I somehow know? Did some part of me see but refuse to face up to the changes happening in my brother? Was I so caught up in my own life, fulfilling my own desires that I blinded myself to all the signs? Where did the brother I know – the one I played hoops with, who always looked out for me at school, the first person who I asked for advice on my first crush – go? He didn't become evil overnight. And if I had known, could I have stopped him before he became be responsible for unleashing upon the world the horrors that we face today?_

He had been attending a campus tour at NYU. Not that he was seriously considering attending college so far away. His grandfather had nearly had a conniption when he found out that Chris had applied to a university clear across the country. Chris had reassured his grandfather that he just wanted to see the campus – he had already applied to UCLA and Berkley, which were a hell of a lot closer. NYU had been an afterthought, almost an excuse just to get away for a weekend, really. In fact, he had asked Wy to come along – a kind of last hurrah for the two brothers. His brother had murmured something about being busy at the club, which he had taken over on the death of their mother. Chris hadn't pushed the issue – he knew college was still a touchy subject with his brother. Although their family had reassured Wyatt that they could 'hold down the fort' while he attended college, Wyatt quickly found out that being the 'twice blessed' and leading a normal life were pretty much mutually exclusive.

So when it had come to his turn, Chris had hesitated as well. It hadn't seemed fair to his brother – that because Chris wasn't 'blessed' that he could lead a fairly normal life. It was only after talking to his aunt Phoebe that Chris decided he would attend college. Chris had resolved to make sure he would attend one close to home, and even better, commute to his chosen school so that if his family ever needed him, if his brother needed him…he'd be there.

And so, the day had come for him to visit NYU, and respecting his mother's wish that he lead a 'normal life' as much as possible, he had boarded a plane to New York. Even though he could have orbed there in a heartbeat. Flying had been quite the experience and Chris had resolved to never 'fly' anywhere again after that flight. The cramped seating…horrid food…the terrifying turbulence…the annoyingly chirpy stewardesses. Forget it. Why put himself through all that torture when he could just orb himself wherever he wanted to go? Plus – it saved money. His grandfather had not been pleased when he had called home after landing to tell him the change in plans for the return trip.

"_Chris – you can't just orb home! You've already paid for the ticket, anyways."_

"But Grandpa," Chris whined, "it'll be so much quicker. And maybe I can get a refund for the trip back."

"_Christopher Perry Halliwell! What if someone checks the airline records? How are you going to explain yourself? Your mother wanted you to have a normal life as much as possible. You take that plane, do you hear me?"_

_Chris heaved a sigh, replying dutifully, "Yes, sir."_

He hadn't known it at the time but those had been the last words he had uttered to his grandfather. Instead, resigned to his fate, Chris had boarded the airport shuttle into the city heading directly to the university for his visit.

_He had been smiling shyly at the girl at the registrar's office who was helping him sign up for the campus tour. She had been pretty – blue eyes with flame coloured tresses the same shade as a sunset on a warm summer's night. But then the windows had started rattling, the floor shaking. Alarmed, Chris had first thought it was an earthquake. People began screaming, fleeing the building. Unable to fight against the flood of people, he had found himself pushed outside carried along by the crowd. _

_The sky turned black. He stared up in disbelief as people buffeted him from all sides, running for their lives. The ominous dark clouds quickly covered the sun in a heartbeat, unnaturally creepy, to say the least. He stood there, frozen, as the clouds suddenly opened up unleashing a torrent of chilling rain, immediately drenching him to the bone. And then the rain stopped, as quickly as it had come._

_:What the – :_

_Fire erupted across the skies; burning embers fell down onto the ground, igniting small fires wherever they touched. He heard a loud crack, looking up in time to see a tree branch hurling down on him, he quickly dove to his left. People were streaming out of the now burning buildings, brushing by him without notice as he struggled to pick himself off the ground. He winced as someone stepped on his hand too busy fleeing to notice the teenager sprawled on the earth._

_An unholy shriek of anger caused him to clap his hands over his ears. Chris' mouth dropped open in horrified amazement as a fifty foot flying monster whistled by him. As he continued to gape in amazement, more dragons appeared covered in scaly hides and breathing fire continued to swoop down on the terrified population._

_It was like he was in a nightmare._

_All around him, chaos erupted. He could hear emergency sirens in the distance, people screaming as they ran for cover, car alarms ringing, and glass breaking._

_And he stood frozen, relatively untouched by the deadly storm erupting around him._

_Shaking himself out of his reverie, he knew that whatever was happening, whatever was going on – it had to do with magic and he wasn't going to able to stop it himself. _

_And so he orbed to the Manor._

_As he materialized into the Manor, Chris felt a chill run down his spine. The ground floor of his home was completely destroyed. Scorch marks streaked the walls and floors, shattered glass from the broken windows littered the ground, and smoldering steel frames was all that was left of the furniture. Chris called weakly, as he stomped out a small fire on the rug, "Grandpa? Wy?" _

_Outside, he could hear the screams of frightened people in the distance, windows shattering, and the shrieking of demons. Much like the sounds of the New York he had just left. The unmistakable sound of chaos in the air._

_Panic set in. "Grandpa! Wy?" _

_He began to run from room to room, "Grandpa! Wy! Aunt Phoebe! Aunt Paige! Come on, where are you guys?"_

_Nothing. He ran back into the front hall, the dread like a dead weight in his stomach, weighing him down. Desperate, he called out for his father, "Dad?"_

"_Chris,"_

_Chris swung around as the front door opened, "Darryl?"_

_Running towards the older man, Chris caught him as he stumbled forward into the house. Behind him, Sheila, supported by her two adult sons, was half carried, half dragged into the Manor. Horrified, Chris took in the sight of his family's closest friends, injured… frightened…scared…terrified._

_The side of Darryl's face was cut open and blood was gushing from the wound, dripping down his face. His left eye was swollen shut and he was clutching his right side tenderly. Leaning heavily on the teenager, Darryl coughed, sputtering up blood, "Chris – we've got to get out of here. You've got to get us out of here. Before he comes back."_

"_What's going on? What's happening? I don't understand – where's Grandpa?" Chris asked, frantically. "I was at NYU on a campus tour – where's Wy? What the hell is going on?"_

"_Chris," Darryl said, slowly. "It's Wyatt. I think he went crazy. The girls – they tried to stop him. Paige told me to get out of here, to get Sheila and the kids out of here. To find you. I came back here on the off chance I'd find you before he does. I knew when this all started you'd come here first."_

_Chris shook his head, not comprehending, "Before who does? Before what started? I don't understand – where IS everyone?"_

_Darryl gripped Chris' shoulders in both his hands, so forcefully that Chris winced under Darryl's strength. His eyes searching Chris, Darryl spoke carefully, "Chris – listen to me. Wyatt did this. He did all of this. We have to get out of here. Now. And I need YOU to orb us out of here. Now. Anywhere."_

_Chris shook his head again, "What do you mean – Wyatt did this? What are you saying? Where's Grandpa? I don't understa –,"_

_Shaking the teenager so hard his teeth rattled, Darryl roared, "I don't have time to explain. Get us out of here, Chris! Now!"_

_Still in shock, Chris automatically responded to Darryl's harsh tone and gripped onto Darryl's arm before gently placing his hand on Sheila's back, orbing all of them away from the Manor._

_As they began to dematerialize, Chris saw another set of orbs begin to appear and a voice began to speak, "Damn! Never mind – I'll find you later, little brother…You can run, but you can't hide."_

_He would never again be able to hear his brother's voice without it sending chills down his spine._

"Chris?"

Chris jerked his head up from the photo, startled from his reverie. Turning his head, he smiled sadly, "Hey, Darryl."

"I knocked, but I don't think you heard me," Darryl nodded his greeting.

Chris ran his right hand through his hair, gathering his thoughts. "Yeah, sorry. I was – uh – just remembering..."

"You okay?"

Chris studied the floor. "Some things are better not remembered, you know?"

Darryl pulled out a chair at the table, seating himself, "Deep thoughts aren't allowed on your birthday."

Chris snorted, placing the photo frame carefully back onto the shelf. "Birthday? It seems like ages ago when I use to look forward to my birthday." He sent Darryl a withering look, "Please tell me we're not celebrating it."

Darryl shrugged. "If it were up to me…Look Chris – Sheila has been looking forward to this for ages."

Chris sighed. "I'm sorry, Darryl. I just – I just don't feel like celebrating. I think I'd really like to give it a pass this year."

"Hey, I know things have been…hard…and I wouldn't be doing this to you, except Sheila didn't even _tell_ me about what she'd been planning until today. Or I would have told her to forget it. I know you don't feel like celebrating but it would mean a lot to Sheila if you came for dinner." Darryl paused, before adding confidentially, "And I was told there would be chocolate cake."

Chris let out a small bark of laughter. "Well, if there's chocolate cake, why didn't you just say so?" He gave the other man a small smile, "What time would you like me to be there?"

"How about in an hour?"

Chris nodded as Darryl pushed himself out of his seat, proceeding to the door of Chris' quarters. "And Chris?"

"Yeah, Darryl?"

"Happy birthday."

* * *

He waited patiently.

A young woman entered the room.

"You sent for me?"

His dark eyes shimmered with zeal as they focused on her.

Refusing to be intimated she returned his gaze coolly, her chin rising slightly. Her long brown hair covered the scars on her neck. Scars from 'lessonings'. Here, in the constant struggle of demons trying to assert themselves in the hierarchy, it was kill or be killed. And so she had killed.

And she was damn good at it.

In fact, she was so good, Wyatt had taken immediate notice of her. Not only did the assassin seem to have perfected her killing skills, she was unafraid. He had observed her once. Pitted against one of his demons, he had watched her take down an opponent nearly twice her size and twice as powerful magic-wise. She had been incredibly graceful, her movements like poetry and her instincts clearly deadly.

She was a killing machine.

He motioned for her to come closer.

She hesitated, before stepping forward.

"It pains me to have to tell you this," Wyatt paused significantly, making sure he had the Phoenix's full attention before continuing, "Your mother is dead."

He saw the flash of pain flit across her face before she quickly schooled her features. Her tone was soft, "How?"

"She was scouting for me, when she ran into a couple of Resistance fighters. They killed her," Wyatt replied, watching the young woman carefully.

She licked her lips. "Who?"

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders, "My demons are not positive. Everything happened so fast, you know."

Hot with anger, Bianca stared into Wyatt's cold eyes, "I want my revenge. I need my revenge. _Who_ killed my mother?"

"We believe it was my brother," Wyatt responded, evenly.

Immediately, Bianca dropped her eyes to the floor, stunned.

"There, there, my dear. You have nothing to fear. I am not condoning what my brother did. In fact, I am the very opposite of it." Wyatt studied the young woman, his eyes cool, his face expressionless. "I will understand if you feel that you need to avenge your mother's death. Her death was so…unnecessary."

She was too consumed with vengeance to bother wondering why Wyatt was so unconcerned with his brother's life. "And how would I find him? He could be anywhere – he has the ability to orb like yourself, am I correct?"

Wyatt snorted. "Most of the attacks have been concentrated here, in this city. He knows my stronghold is here – he is unlikely to be too far away. I know how his mind works, like he knows mine. It will not be easy. I want you not just to find him, but to find where he and his little friends are hiding. I want to flush them out and make examples of them all."

"And how am I to do that?" Bianca asked, skeptical. "I don't even know how to find them!"

Wyatt waved his hand in annoyance, "That is easily solved. We can set a trap, put you into contact with them – but what I want, no, what I need for you to do, is to eliminate my problem. I have chosen you for a reason. You are a witch and a mortal, and therefore, can pass for an 'innocent.' Chris is unlikely to be suspicious of a fellow, helpless mortal. He and his friends will fall all over themselves to save a fellow mortal. I want you to let them take you back to their base of operations. Find out how many there are, just how big this 'Resistance' is and then report back to me."

"I don't want to be friends with him. I want revenge! No talking – just killing." Bianca scowled, her blood still boiling through her veins.

"My dear," Wyatt explained, almost wearily, "I realize that. But you must also think of my needs. I'm not asking you not to kill him…merely just delay it long enough so that you can garner the information I require. Then you have my permission to do whatever you wish, as long as you return with the information I need." Wyatt smiled indulgently, "I will reward you greatly if you do this for me."

Visions of power dancing in her head, Bianca inclined her head just a touch, "Very well. I will let him live long enough to find out what I can about this Resistance. And _then_ I will make him pay."

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming, my dear," Wyatt replied sarcastically. "My lieutenant will assist you in helping you orchestrate an opportunity for your first 'meeting' with the Resistance. Remember – I need to know everything about this little rebellion before I can squash it. It has been a thorn in my side for too long."

Bowing slightly, Bianca turned to leave, walking towards the exit. Opening the door, she paused on the threshold, "Of course."

"Oh, and Bianca? Embrace your heritage. It's what your mother would have wanted."

Nodding curtly, she left.

* * *

"We've pretty much got only one option. City hall was destroyed during the attacks, but Berkley is still pretty much intact. The problem is Wyatt's using Berkley as a supplies depot. The place is overrunning with demon activity." Les unrolled a map of the campus, his finger stabbing at one of the marks. They were in Chris' quarters, strategizing on the next move. "I did talk to a bunch of kids who were enrolled in the urban planning program and they said maps of the city were kept there for sure."

Chris rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "At least it's on the outskirts of the campus."

"But there's no guarantee that the maps weren't destroyed at some point." Leslie shook his head. "It's a high risk mission with a low possibility of success with the significant probability that what we need won't even be there."

"It's our best option – you said it yourself, we're running out of water," Chris sighed.

"But we could probably find some bottled water elsewhere. We haven't scouted all the abandoned buildings yet. There's a high probability that the strip plazas on the outskirts of the city would have a water supply that we could retrieve relatively safely," Leslie argued. "It's worked before."

Rubbing the back of his neck wearily, Chris slowly shook his head, "That's not the problem. The problem is we need a sustainable water supply. Get Zach to mobilize a scout group and start hitting those strip plazas. We need a back up plan in the meantime until we find our sustainable source."

"Fine," Leslie replied reluctantly as he rolled up the campus map. "I'll get him to organize a team to leave at first light."

"And Les – leave the campus map. Get a small team together, we're going to go get those maps of the city." Chris got up from his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "I want to leave tomorrow night."

Leslie arched an eyebrow in question, "We? I? Am I suppose to understand that you're going on this mission?"

Chris rolled his eyes at Leslie. "Don't give me that look. I need to go. I know the layout of the campus – I was there on a campus tour last year. That map you have is no comparison to someone who actually knows the area. This operation has got to go down smooth and easy."

"Darryl isn't going to like this."

"Darryl doesn't like a lot of things. The fact of the matter is that for this mission to have any chance of success, we're going to need witches to carry it out. It's got to be small, it's got to be fast and most of all, it's got to be smooth." Chris shrugged. "I'll handle Darryl. You just get me a team together. Oh, and make sure you get someone from the scouts who are responsible for monitoring the activity in that area. I want to know everything about that depot and the demon activity there. How many demons are on site, what kind…hell – what they eat, everything."

Nodding, Leslie looked down at his watch. _Great, another sleepless night_, he thought to himself. "I think that area was assigned to Duncan and his team. I'll need to touch base with them first." He moved towards the door looking over his shoulder at Chris, who was pinning the campus map to his wall. "Give me a couple of hours."

"Fine. I'll be at Darryl's," Chris grimaced, looking pained. "Sheila wants to celebrate my birthday."

"Partying without me? I'm hurt."

"Very funny," Chris shot Leslie an evil look. "After you're done, why don't you join us? I'm told there will be chocolate cake."

"Chocolate cake, eh? How'd Sheila even get a hold of chocolate anyways? She must've traded quite a few rations for it…" Leslie mused absently as he exited. "Make sure you save me a piece. It's not everyday that I get the chance to have chocolate cake."

His friend gone and alone in his quarters again, Chris said wistfully to himself, thinking of happier times, "Me neither."

* * *

He gazed outside the window of his suite where the shutters were flung open letting the cold night air whip through the room. He scowled, watching the lightening in the distance and listening to the soft sounds of the rolling thunder as the storm increased in intensity. He crossed his arms, his eyes squinting in the darkness as he tried to gauge how far away the raging storm was and how soon it would be upon them. This would be a terrible and powerful storm, with heavy rain and flooding.

He expected nothing less.

Inside, the room was swathed from ceiling to floor in curtains of black satin and the only furniture in it were several well-padded leather chairs. A fire burned merrily away in the fireplace, bathing the room in a warm glow.

The noise of shuffling feet behind him disturbed him. Turning around slowly, Wyatt cocked his eyebrow at the demon Zankou, his current right hand 'man'. "Well?"

Giving Wyatt a slight bow, the demon straightened, "I have given orders for the demons to alert us at the first sign of any of the humans. They will not engage until I give the order."

"Good," Wyatt replied, evenly. "And you have worked out a plan with our assassin on how to insert her into their midst?"

Zankou nodded. "We will make sure to place her in the Resistance's path. Another 'poor' innocent who managed to escape."

Wyatt inclined his head, dismissing his lieutenant. When Zankou failed to leave, Wyatt looked at him impatiently, "Yes?"

"Why didn't you tell her that you sent her mother to kill your brother? Why pretend that it was the Resistance?" Zankou asked. "What does it matter?"

"Simple – motivation. Now she's personally invested," Wyatt replied, his tone smug. He moved towards a thronelike chair at one end of the room, and seated himself. "Revenge is good for the soul."

"But what if she finds out differently, my lord? What if she finds out it wasn't the Resistance that killed her mother?"

Wyatt lifted his right shoulder in a half shrug, "And what if she does? She's an _assassin_. It's her job to kill. And if she doesn't, well – she'll know what happened to her mother for failing me."

"Keep me appraised of the situation. This will take care, Zankou. I want it done right."

Zankou bowed. "As you wish, my lord."

* * *

Les blinked rapidly, hoping the multiple images of the map would fuse into the one copy he knew was currently studying. Sighing, he rubbed his tired eyes, squinting at the map again. Patiently he waited for the blurry images to meld eventually into the one. Absently picking up a pencil he began to make notes on the paper, circling important strategic areas.

"Quentin said you wanted to see me?"

Les looked up from the map of the terrain around the city and exclaimed, "What the hell happened to you?

Stumbling into the small meeting room in the command centre, the ceiling light revealed a tired looking Duncan. His eyes were sunken, his skin was pale, and there was a nasty looking bruise beginning to form under his right eye. Painfully he limped his way towards Les, taking a seat in the chair across from him. Slowly sinking down into the chair, Duncan replied, wearily, "Our patrol ran into a couple of brute demons. They were a little too close to home for me to leave them be, so we had to take them out. What I didn't realize was they were the initial scouting party for their little group. We ended up being outnumbered two to one."

Les gulped. Brute demons weren't necessarily the smartest of demons, but they were definitely the strongest. Two to one odds were not good odds. "Any casualties?"

Duncan shook his head, "We were damn lucky. Couple of broken arms and I think Eddie broke a few ribs, but otherwise we all made it back. They're in the infirmary right now getting patched up by the whitelighters. "

"Good," Les said, relieved. "No offense, but you sure look like you could use a visit too."

Duncan shrugged, "It can wait. It's mostly bumps and bruises. Besides, Quentin seemed to imply that you wanted to see me about something pretty important."

Les nodded, turning the map around so that Duncan could look at it right side up. "Chris wants to do a recon mission at the university. I need you to tell me all you know about this area. It falls under your circuit, doesn't it?"

Squinting, Duncan looked at the tiny markings on the map pen marked with a large, red circle. "Yep. That's our territory. Let's see…all the campus buildings are pretty much intact. Wyatt's been using it as some kind of a supplies depot for potion making and other magical artifacts from what we gather. But nothing terribly powerful or important enough for us to risk our lives. All the good stuff is probably kept at his stronghold in the east."

Grabbing a pencil from the surface of the desk, Les began to scribble on a piece of paper, "How many demons? What are the shifts like? Are there regular patrols?"

Rubbing his eyes, Duncan counted off, "I'd say there's about ten demons that guard the main building – the library, I think. And teams of two stationed at each of the other ones. We think there are two shifts a day. They don't really expect any trouble, considering they're not really guarding anything too important. I haven't run into any patrols on the ground. They stick to sentry duty on the rooftop of the buildings, which gives them really good vantage points over the surrounding area. There could be more demons inside, but I wouldn't know how many."

Leslie stroked his chin thoughtfully, as he muttered, "Good, good."

"Can I ask what this is all about?" Duncan inquired. "There's nothing there, is there? Did Chris get some intel from some of our sources?"

Shaking his head, Les replied, "Nah. We're thinking about doing a recon mission to retrieve some documents from the library. We're hoping that the maps of the city are still intact."

"Maps?" Duncan queried, bewildered. "I don't understand. Don't we have enough maps?" He waved his hand around the room, indicating the various city maps pinned against the walls.

"Not these ones," Les replied, evenly. "Look, I need to put a team together to go in there. Can you recommend someone from your team? I need someone who knows the area like the back of their hand. And someone who knows the guard shifts. And they need to be able to keep a cool head. I can't be babysitting anyone for this one."

Raising his eyebrow at Les' list of requirements, Duncan responded, dryly, "Well – I guess that'd be me, then."

Les nodded, grimly. "I suspected so. Go get some rest. I need to talk to Chris but I think we'll be moving out in 36 hours. Be ready."

"Will do."

* * *

Les went looking for Chris and found him in the other small meeting room in the command centre. Glancing at his watch, Les knocked on the open door to get his friend's attention. "Hey."

Chris looked up from the pile of papers his nose was currently buried in. "I know I said we'd talk about the water situation now, but can you give me a couple more hours? I'm just in the middle of something."

"No can do, kemosabe."

Shooting Les a dirty look, Chris chose to ignore his friend's teasing, "Fine. Pull up a chair and we'll discuss it now. Make it quick though – I really have to get back to this."

Not budging from his position of leaning on the door, Les shook his head, "I'm not here to talk about our drinking water situation. I've got the basic plan all worked out. We can discuss it later. There's something way more important."

Puzzled, Chris asked, "That being?"

"I'm here to make sure you keep your promise."

Mystified, Chris stared at his friend for a full minute before it hit him, "Dinner!" smacking his forehead with his open palm.

"It IS your birthday. And Sheila's expecting you."

Chris groaned, "Do you have to remind me?"

Les' smile took on a gloating quality, "Sheila really needs this. With DJ and his brother doing reconnaissance for you, she can't communicate with them. I think she needs to feel busy."

His eyes flashing with regret, Chris momentarily lapsed, "I never should have sent them. I should have sent someone else to do the demon recon at L.A."

Les shrugged. "You needed someone you trusted. And someone who could act as your unfettered hand. They were the best choice. The only choice. They're good guys and they can hold their own. They'll be fine."

"Still doesn't mean it was the right one," Chris replied, gloomily. "This recon work means total silence for three weeks with them just checking in as protocol."

"And what if you hadn't sent them? How would DJ have felt? He wants to contribute, just as much as Darryl or any other person in the Resistance. Everyone has needs, Chris. And DJ needed this mission. Hell, he came to _you_. He volunteered for the bloody mission as soon as we started brainstorming. And there was no way his brother was going to let him go it alone. Sheila understands. Don't beat yourself up over it." Les counseled. "Enough depressing talk…let's go. Or we're going to be late. And I'm pretty sure Sheila _won't_ understand that!"

Shaking off his misgivings, Chris shoved his chair back and got to his feet. "You're right."

Cracking his million-dollar smile, Les winked, "I usually am, boss man."

Chris just sighed.

* * *

To be continued…

A/N: I'm adding an extra little note for those who recently reviewed _Redundant_ since there seems to be a common theme in the reviews – I appreciate the constructive criticism and promise to revisit the story in response to your comments after I finish getting this one out of my system. It may just be an added 'epilogue' though. I guess we'll see where my muse takes me.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks to everyone who takes the time to review. Seeing those emails gives me the energy to push forward and continue writing. And just a gentle reminder – this story is rated R for a reason.

Special thanks go to: Sparkling Cherries, Alex, Alyssa T, Shadow Dark Night, ladybug218, Janie, fanastygirl721, ChrisBianca, cold-blooded-angel, IcantthinkofaFnink

**Providence **

**Chapter 3**

_We were of no more significance to him than gnats. He gave us no thought – amused by what he called our 'pathetic belief' in good and evil.  
_-from the letters of Darryl Morris to his wife Sheila, written after her death

* * *

She pondered the 'reception' she had just had with Wyatt. Her mother had warned her that the man was not only evil, but crazy. A very dangerous combination. Evil was one thing – she had never had any problem with that. It was the crazy ones that you had to look out for.

Bianca had questioned her mother's reasoning when she had first told her daughter that they would be joining Wyatt's army of demons.

"_But why, mom? Aren't we better off on our own? We don't need them…and demons can't be trusted," Bianca had argued. _

_Her mother took her hand, leading her towards the couch. "The rest of the family agrees that we need to join Wyatt while we can still make it appear to be 'our' choice. It's only a matter of time before we would either have to choose his side or be destroyed." _

"_I don't understand."_

"_We don't have a choice, Bianca. Wyatt's giving us the 'option' of joining him…but if we don't, he's going to eliminate us. At least this way, it looks like we're joining him of our own accord." _

"_I don't like this, mom. Are you sure you and the others agree that this is the only way? I don't see Uncle Cyrus agreeing with this…he hates alliances! He's always said that we can't trust anyone but our coven. You've always told me the same thing! And now we're going to be working with demons?" Bianca protested._

"_Bianca, we took a vote. Not everyone is going to agree but if there's one thing that we do know as a family of assassins is that we have to stick together. The Phoenixes have survived for so long because we stick together. And you know as the youngest daughter, I don't have much weight at the family council," Her mother explained, patiently. _

"_Okay – so we agree we can't go it alone. Did you guys think about joining forces with someone else?" Bianca questioned, still unconvinced._

"_And who else is there? Wyatt controls ALL the demons, Bianca. There IS no one else," Her mother looked at her, exasperated. _

"_What about this Resistance I keep hearing about? That underground movement trying to overthrow Wyatt?" Bianca suggested. "Isn't it 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend?' Maybe we could form a temporary alliance with them until the world goes back to normal."_

"_Bite your tongue!" Her mother exclaimed. Seeing the hurt expression in her daughter's face, her mother tried to explain, "Bianca, darling – the underground movement wouldn't understand people like us. To them – there's only good and evil. And we are definitely not on the side of good. They'd be more likely to kill us then accept an alliance with us, however temporary."_

"_I just think we're rushing into things…" Bianca's voice trailed off._

"_Sweetheart, I'm scared too. But the world is changing and if we're going to continue to be the most powerful, most elite coven of witches that walks this earth – we need to position ourselves in the right place. And right now, that place is with Wyatt Halliwell," Her mother stood up, gesturing towards the stairs of their home. "Come on – we need to pack. This place isn't safe anymore."_

After several months at her uncle's, they, along with the rest of their coven, had moved into Wyatt's stronghold. Surrounded by demons, the coven had become even more close knit. Her uncle had positioned himself as one of Wyatt's advisors, providing them with some much needed visibility amongst the demons. The demons had also quickly learned that to mess with one assassin was to mess with them all. When one of the Scabber demons had attacked one of her cousins, the retaliation had been swift. Within three days the assassins had eliminated half of the Scabber demon population. All demons were careful to steer clear of them now.

Sighing, she quickly cleaned the blade of her knife, careful not to knick herself. The blade was small but incredibly sharp. Effective for knife throwing and slitting throats, she smiled coldly to herself as she slipped it in to wrist sheath on her right hand. She checked the matching one on her left, testing the point with her finger. She grinned as her finger came away with blood from the sharp prick, wiping the blood off on a nearby towel.

The pair of wrist sheaths had a trick release; a gift from her mother presented to her on her first 'kill.' Bianca had been both thrilled and proud – they were an exact replica of the ones her mother wore…_had_ worn.

She scowled, picking up another knife – this one slightly longer but thinner than the ones in her wrist sheaths. She tucked it into her right boot. Surveying the array of weapons laying on her bed, she sighed regretfully at her sword which was currently occupying the pride of place with the hilt gently resting on the pillow.

A sharper blade she had yet to find; she had taken the sword from one of her hardest kills as a 'memento.' Lightweight, thin but incredibly strong, the sword had served her well. It was her favourite weapon of choice – the weight of it in her hand seemed to mesh perfectly with her sword work. Unfortunately there was no way she could take it with her. Hidden knives were one thing – a sword was out of the question, especially since the 'plan' required her to appear 'helpless.'

Glancing around the room, her eyes rested on the silver pendant sitting on the bed opposite to hers. Her mother's. Bianca and her mother had shared a room – safety in numbers. Demons were demons, after all. They had no sense of honour, loyalty or trust. They wouldn't hesitate to get rid of anyone they perceived as a threat to their existence. No matter that she and her mother belonged to Wyatt's elite team of witch assassins. With her mother, Bianca had had that trust. Now she was utterly alone. Picking up the necklace, she undid the clasp and fastened it around her neck. Fingering the tear drop pendant, she wondered, _Mom…why did you have to leave me? _

Picking up a steel box from the floor, she began to pick up the weapons from her bed and toss her treasures into the box. The task complete, she locked the box physically and magically. Satisfied that it would hold until her return, she slid the box under her bed. There was no doubt in her mind that she would complete her mission. Her mother would have expected no less.

Finished packing, Bianca abruptly sat on her bed to wait. The plan was to put her into the path of the Resistance fighters as an innocent fleeing persecution from Wyatt's demons. A common enough occurrence so as not to raise any suspicions. The tricky part was the waiting. Zankou, Wyatt's right hand man, had instructions to all the demons to be on the lookout for any movement from the Resistance. Bianca still had her doubts about the plan but hadn't been able to come up with anything better. If her mother had been here, she would have sought advice from her. Bianca wrapped her arms around herself, feeling more alone than she ever had in her life. Feeling sorry for herself, she felt the tears begin to prick her eyes.

Angrily she wiped at the tears in her eyes. Self-pity would only make her weak. Instead she let her anger boil and overrun her emotions, squashing the feelings of loneliness and grief at her mother's passing. Anger would be her constant companion now. Her mother was gone and so would the bastard that had killed her. If it was the last thing she did, Bianca vowed to make her mother's killer pay.

* * *

Grimacing, Chris lifted his hand to knock on the door to Darryl and Sheila's quarters, sparing a glance at Les. The last thing he wanted to do was celebrate his birthday. He had a mission to plan, scouting reports he needed to review and countless other little tasks that went with being the 'leader' of the Resistance. There were days, and this was one of them, that Chris thought he was more like the 'secretary' of the Resistance given the amount of paperwork that never seemed to decrease in piles. If anything, they seemed to multiply exponentially whenever he left them alone for too long. If he didn't know better, he would swear the piles were secretly breeding.

"Come in!"

Shaking his head clear of his random thoughts, Chris reluctantly opened the door and stepped into the room. A beaming Sheila rushed forward to pull him into a hug, while he exchanged a pained glance with an amused Darryl over Sheila's shoulder. Quickly schooling his features, he forced himself to put on a pleasant face as Sheila pulled back from the hug, kissed his check and looked him over, "And how is the birthday boy doing?"

"Just peachy, thanks," Chris smiled a fake smile, co-opting the breezy response his aunt Paige had always used.

Sheila's eyes narrowed, "You may not want a party, but by God, you're going to enjoy it if I have to force you to have a good time. I can't remember the last time I had a reason to celebrate."

It occurred to him that Sheila needed to celebrate _something_ and that it just happened that his birthday was convenient. Doom and gloom were the normal day-to-day moods in the base and everyone needed to lighten the mood every once and awhile. Chris realized he was so consumed with making it through each day that he forgot how wearing things could be on the others as well. And if Sheila needed to throw a party to help her morale, who was he to stand in her way? Suddenly ashamed of himself, he said, rather shamefacedly, "I'm sorry. Thank you for doing all of this, Sheila. Really."

She looked at him for a long time, as if judging whether or not he was being sincere. As he began to squirm uncomfortably under her steady gaze, she relented, "Okay. No harm done. Let's get you a drink."

"Something alcoholic?" Chris asked hopefully, making puppy dog eyes at his honourary aunt.

"You wish," Sheila sashayed past him to head to the back where a small kitchenette was located. "Darryl – get the poor boy a drink, will you? Les – you make yourself comfortable, you hear?"

Chuckling at Chris' chagrin, Les replied, "I hear you, Sheila."

In the centre of the room stood the table, already set with four places and Darryl sitting on one side. Indicating for Chris to take a seat at the table, Darryl reached over to open the door to a mini fridge. Reaching inside, he grabbed a can of pop and slid it across the table towards the young man. Nodding his thanks, Chris grinned at his friend before popping the soda can open. Taking a sip of the cold beverage, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before saying, "Did Les fill you in on our water rations plan?"

Before Darryl could open his mouth to reply, Sheila's voice from the kitchen rose, "No shop talk! Find something else to discuss!"

Shrugging helplessly at Chris and Les, Darryl replied, "I guess we'll talk about that later. Anything else you'd like to discuss?"

Chris thought for awhile, before coming up empty handed, "Errr, no?"

"Honestly! You guys are hopeless!" Sheila exclaimed, deftly transferring the pot roast from the oven to the table. Her arms akimbo, she mock glared at the three men, "What am I going to do with you?"

"Feed us?" Chris feigned innocently.

Sighing good naturedly, Sheila took a seat next to her husband. Handing Darryl the carving knife, she indicated for Chris to hand his plate over.

The four adults munched away happily in peace, enjoying each other's company. Too often, the four friends found themselves too busy with their roles in the Resistance to spend time together as a family. Because they were a family, even if it was a makeshift one.

Helping himself, Les reached into the mini fridge and selected a cold beer. Twisting the top off, he grinned at Chris' sour look, as he deliberately took a big gulp, "Ahhhhh…nothing like a cold beer at the end of a long day."

Sheila rolled her eyes. "Some people just never grow up. Stop giving Chris a hard time. It's his birthday."

"You're right," Leslie replied, a little too glibly, before gulping down other long swig of beer. "Sorry about that, birthday boy."

Rolling his eyes, Chris chose to ignore his friend and Darryl's smirks. He'd given up long ago trying to get Les to show him some respect. Les tended to follow Darryl's lead, and between the two of them, Chris would never have to worry about getting too big for his britches. "Just pass me the potatoes, will you?" Chris grumbled.

"Chris – I wanted to speak to you about some of the children," Sheila wisely chose to ignore the banter around the table. Pointing her fork at him, "We've been talking about the scouts. I think it would be really helpful for the students to really understand what would be expected of them. Do you think you can stop by tomorrow?"

When the Resistance had first set up underground, the children had been at loose ends. The whitelighters had mainly looked after them – as pacifists, they couldn't really help with the day-to-day operations. Once a routine had been established, Sheila had pointed out how the children needed something to occupy their time. She, together with some of the teachers from magic school and regular schools had started to put classes together. The children were then separated into two streams, those with magic and those without. Sheila was the only teacher to have a mismatch of kids who had magical powers and those who didn't. That was because her classes weren't normal. They were training the next generation on combative magics and demonology. Unfortunate, but necessary. Sheila ran classes for those students who wanted to give back to the Resistance.

"Of course," Chris nodded. "I still hate the idea that we need to train these kids for the war. I guess I just thought…I guess I thought we wouldn't need to."

Darryl shook his head grimly, "So did I. I think we all hope that the next generation isn't going to have to fight. And maybe they won't. But we should prepare them the best we can in case they do."

"War doesn't recognize if you're a kid or not," Les grimaced. "At least we try to keep them out of the forces until they hit eighteen. The more training they get, the better chances of their survival, Chris. That's why we agreed to Sheila's suggestion to hold classes once they hit their teens."

"I know," Chris replied, softly. "I know. I hate it, but I know."

"We all hate it, Chris," Darryl agreed, standing up to clear the dishes. Deftly changing the topic to lighter fare, he asked, "You done? I'll take your plates then."

Handing his dinner plate over to Darryl, Chris smiled at Sheila, complimenting her, "That was great, Sheila. I can't think of the last time I had such a great meal."

"Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Do you even eat?" Sheila frowned at her young friend, studying his skinny frame. "Darryl tells me you hardly leave command central. And Lorelai told me she hasn't seen you in the mess hall in forever. You need to keep your strength up, young man."

Helping Darryl clear the table, Les gathered Sheila's empty plate, smirking at Chris' discomfort. The young whitelighter squirmed uncomfortably under Sheila's penetrating squint, protesting defensively, "I eat!"

"Huh," Sheila snorted, disbelievingly. Still eyeing Chris sceptically, she merely raised an eyebrow, "When was the last time you actually ate in the mess hall?"

One of the advantages of being housed in an underground shopping concourse was the array of facilities. When Darryl and Chris had first discussed possible locations for a base of operations, the underground city had been at the top of the list. Besides the advantage of the multitude of tunnels running beneath the city, the structure also boasted several food courts. As more and more innocents found their way to the Resistance's base, and as the Resistance's participants increased in numbers, the facilities in the food courts had been an added bonus. The 'mess' hall that Sheila referred to was one of the largest food courts in the underground mall. Lorelai, who had been a chef in a prior life, ran the mess hall with an iron first. She and her team were responsible for cooking thousands of meals a day that were nutritional and under ration conditions. No easy task but somehow Lorelai made the mess hall a friendly gathering place where innocents and Resistance fighters mingled socially.

Chris rolled his eyes at Sheila, "I usually grab something and bring it back to command central to eat. I don't have time to sit down in the mess hall. Believe me, if I could I would. I miss connecting with everyone."

About to push her point further, Sheila paused, spying Darryl with the cake standing surreptitiously behind Chris. Instead she began to sing "Happy Birthday to you…Happy Birthday to you…"

Chris put his hands over his ears as two decidedly off-key voices joined in, "Happy Birthday dear Christopher…."

"Happy Birthday to you!"

Embarrassed at all the attention, Chris glared at the three smiling faces across from him. "Thank god there aren't any candles to blow out."

"Oh stop being such a big baby and cut the cake. It's not every day you turn nineteen," Les grinned, handing Chris the knife so that he could slice the cake.

Taking the knife from his friend, Chris sliced off a huge chuck of the cake loading it onto a plate before passing it to Sheila. "I do appreciate this, Sheila. Really."

Sheila smiled sadly, watching Chris pass a slice of cake to Darryl and Les before slicing a piece for himself. "I know you do, sweetheart. I just wish that your mom could have been here. She would have been so proud."

Dropping his eyes, Chris stared at the piece of cake in front of him. Chocolate had been his mother's favourite kind of cake. Suddenly not hungry, Chris blinked rapidly before shoving his chair back, "Thanks again for the wonderful dinner, Sheila. I…I…uh…just realized I have to get back."

Before anyone could say anything, Chris fled the room and the door shut behind him. The three adults who remained behind in his wake looked at each other awkwardly. Sighing, Les shovelled a piece of cake into his mouth before standing up, "I'd best go and check on him. We've got to go over plans for a recon mission for tomorrow night."

"Should I be concerned about it?" Darryl asked, frowning. "This is the first I've heard of any recon missions scheduled for tomorrow."

Les shook his head. "I'll bring you up to speed tomorrow morning. Night, Darryl. And thanks for the dinner, Sheila."

Coming around the table, Sheila pulled Les into a warm hug, "You take care, you hear? And tell Chris I'm sorry if I upset him. I just…I was just thinking how proud Piper would be of him and I just blurted it out. I didn't mean – "

Returning the hug, Les shook his head. "He knows you didn't. Don't worry about it."

Pulling back, Sheila wiped at the tear forming in the corner of her eye. "Nonetheless, tell him I love him. You'll look out for him, right? I think…I think sometimes we forget…he's only nineteen, Les. Today."

Nodding solemnly, Les reassured Darryl's wife as he took his leave, "I know, Sheila. Good night. And thanks again."

The door of Darryl's and Sheila's quarters slammed shut again for the second time that night. Leaning on her husband, Sheila raised her concerned face to Darryl's, "He's only nineteen, Darryl."

Pressing a kiss to the top of his wife's head, Darryl merely replied, "Let's get these dishes cleared. It's been a long night and something tells me tomorrow is going to be even longer."

* * *

"You okay?"

"I'm fine," Chris responded curtly, not bothering to look up as Les entered Chris' quarters. "Did you put a team together?"

If Les noticed that Chris' eyes seemed slightly red rimmed, he chose not to say anything. "You, me, Duncan and three other members of his team. I figure the fewer there are of us, the easier it will be to sneak in. You okay with that?"

"That's fine," Chris continued to ignore his friend, studying the paper in front of him. He picked up a red pen that lay next to him and began to place markings on the map of the city laid out in front of him.

Taking a seat from across Chris, Les craned his neck to peer at the tiny markings. "What do those little triangle thingys mean?"

"Ten or more demons spotted. Our scouts have been spotting demons all over the place. I want to know if they're concentrating in any particular area," Chris replied wearily. "I think Wyatt's starting to get more suspicious. See the number of demons that were spotted here?" Chris stabbed his pen at a cluster of blue triangles on the map. "Five of these sightings were in the last three weeks."

"What do you think it means?"

"I don't know. But they're stationed damned close to our border post for me to feel comfortable. I just don't like it," Chris closed his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Remind me to pass this off to Darryl tomorrow. He might have better luck trying to figure it out."

Pointing at the sheaf of papers on Chris' left, Les asked, "Are those today's scout reports?"

"Yeah."

"Any losses? Word is that Slick's team ran into some trackers on their circuit this afternoon. Any truth to it?"

"Don't you have anything better to do than listen to gossip in the mess hall?" Chris asked, exasperated.

"I just like to know what's going on in my own house. It's not like all of us have access to your scout reports, you know. Besides, you need someone to tell you how the general population is feeling," Les shrugged, unconcerned with Chris' annoyance. "So?"

"Slick's team ran into some trackers at Christie Road. The report says he sustained losses in the10 percent margin."

It was easier to refer to the losses of lives as percentages. The alternative was too disturbing – thinking of all his friends and followers who lost their lives on a daily basis. In the beginning, Chris had been unable to cope; restless nights spent staring at the ceiling wondering what he could have done differently. He had been on the verge of losing his sanity when Darryl had sat him down and explained the realities of war. Being a cop, Darryl had been exposed to psychiatric counselling and he had shared with Chris some coping mechanisms. _Think of them as numbers rather than people_, Darryl had said sadly. _Compartmentalize everything – separate it from your home life and your job. And it IS a job, Chris. A vital, necessary, incredibly difficult one, but a job nonetheless. You'll go crazy if you don't._ Chris hated that he felt that way but he acknowledged that it was the only way he could cope. _When did I have to stop feeling just to function day-to-day? How does everyone else do it? God – I hate this bloody war._

"10 percent, eh? That's pretty damned good numbers considering they were up against trackers," Les mused. "So about tomorrow night…"

Chris' eyes popped open. Pointing at the campus map pinned on his wall, he gestured for Les to bring it over. The telepath tipped his chair so far back it was surprising he didn't fall over. Grasping onto the corner of the map just within reach of his two fingers and thumb, Les gave it a sharp yank, tearing the map down from the wall and leaving behind the two upper corners still tacked to the wall.

Rolling his eyes, Chris deigned to comment on his friend's action, choosing instead to smooth out the map with his palms. He used his index finger to lightly circle one of the markings on the map. "Here. Once we clear the dead zone, I'll orb us to outside the compound. We'll make our way on foot inside."

Frowning, Les stroked his chin thoughtfully, "Why don't we just orb inside?"

"Because you said Duncan didn't know if there were any demons inside. There's no way I'm orbing us into a hornet's nest. So we get as close as possible and then make our way inside. Got it?"

Les nodded, "Sounds like a plan. I'd better get going if I'm going to catch Duncan before he turns in for the night. I'll tell him to meet us at the gate tomorrow at dusk."

* * *

"I don't like this, Chris."

"I'm well aware of your opinion, Darryl. You've made it pretty clear in the past," Chris remarked as he poured himself a steaming hot cup of coffee from the percolating coffeemaker sitting on his desk. He quirked his eyebrow at Darryl, silently asking if he would like a cup as well.

Shaking his head, Darryl threw up his hands, "Fine. It's not like you're going to listen to me, anyways. I don't know why I bother sometimes."

Chris grinned. "I'm not sure why you do either. Obviously you knew this was a losing battle before you even brought it up, so do you mind telling me what really brings you by my quarters so early this morning?"

Reluctantly returning Chris' grin, Darryl replied, "Am I so obvious?"

"Let's just say I've known you for a long time."

"I've finally got the Council up and running. We've already had a couple of meetings, and I was just on my way to the one scheduled to take place today. Any chance I could persuade you to stop by?" Darryl questioned, seating himself across from Chris as he watched Chris sip his coffee.

"No can do. I want to spend today going over any last minute changes for the recon mission tonight. Make my apologies to everyone, will you? Besides, you don't really _need_ me there, do you?" Chris asked.

Darryl shrugged. "No, but I think it would be prudent for you to attend the sessions every once and awhile. It's one thing for me to represent you, but sometimes it's better for them to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. Face it – the Council was your idea. You need to make sure it works. I want you to see all the machinations that go on behind the scenes."

Chris sighed. "If I didn't agree with you, I would accuse you of trying to make me regret my decision to start up the Council."

"Who, me?" Darryl grinned, wolfishly. "So you coming or not?"

"Sure. Look – I know we didn't agree on this, but it's the right thing to do, Darryl," Chris pointed out, as the two left Chris' quarters. "When you only have one viewpoint, you might miss something. As much as you and I both hate bureaucracy, these guys may see something you and I might not normally see."

"I know," Darryl sighed. "It's why I didn't fight you more on this. It IS the right thing to do. And I do think we've got a fair representation of all the interested parties." Moving swiftly down the hallway, Darryl led the way to the room currently being used for the Council meetings. Nodding at the two guards on either side of the door, Darryl motioned for them to open the door to the Council chamber. Without waiting to see if Chris was behind him, Darryl threw over his shoulder, "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Chris muttered to himself and entered the room. The room wasn't a very large one; it housed a singular round dark wood table and matching wood chairs. Like the rest of the base, decorations were non-existent. A single halogen lamp hung from the ceiling providing a harsh, white light. An enormous tattered, yellowed map of the world was stuck on one wall and another huge map of the city on the opposing wall; both large enough so that it could be easily seen from any position around the table.

The other members of the Council had already arrived as Darryl and Chris each took a place at the table. Each chair was exactly the same at Chris' insistence so that each member could take whichever seat they chose, emphasizing that they were all equal voices here. Chris nodded his head in greeting, amused by the evident surprise in some of the Councillors' faces. Obviously they had not been expecting him.

Studying the faces around the table, Chris allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Each person at the table had been his first or second pick for the position. First was Ben who was representing the witches. His dark brown hair was liberally streaked with silver; his outward appearance was the complete antithesis of the fussy professor of magic school that Chris knew him to be. Next up was Riley, a leprechaun, who represented all the magical beings. Plump and short, contrary to his bright red hair belied a calm and even-tempered individual. The exact opposite, Lilah was slender as Riley was plump, tall where he was short and incredibly fair-haired. A whitelighter – Darryl had insisted that they have separate representation from Odin who would represent the Elders; likely Darryl's way of circumventing Chris' insistence that Odin have a voice at the table. Chris shook his head to himself, amused that even his friend wasn't beyond politicking for what he perceived as the right way.

Darryl, who in addition represented Chris' voice in his absence, was also responsible for the mortals, spoke first, "I should like to open this meeting to discuss our water situation. The scouts are spending all their time on foraging for supplies that it leaves us vulnerable on our borders. I think we need to start integrating everyone, and not just our witches, so we can expand our scout teams. Otherwise, not only will we be running our current scouts ragged, it could lead to ineffectiveness."

Odin immediately put in his two cents, "I disagree. It is your duty as witches and whitelighters to protect innocents, or in this case, mortals. Asking mortals or other beings to be integrated into the scout contingent would be a contradiction to this principle."

There was no love lost between Ben and Odin, as Ben quickly pointed out, "That's great, but there aren't ANY whitelighters, let alone ELDERS, who are part of the scouts. It all weighs on the shoulders of my people. Who, by the way, are the smallest population in this group."

Lilah, who obviously shared Ben's dislike of Odin, noted unhappily, as if it galled her to support Odin's position, "Well, we ARE pacifists. I'm not sure we could be part of the scouts. Plus, my people are healers. We can't afford to lose even one of them."

"Then we need to bring in people who will be," Darryl pronounced, practically. "I, for one, am not going to sit on my hands and let someone else take all the risks because 'in principle' we're not suppose to be involved. That may have worked five years ago but let's face facts here, people. Magic has been exposed. I see no choice but to give Ben and his team the help they need. No, deserve."

"I don't see how my people could be of any assistance," Riley protested. "Let's face it – the majority of us don't practice offensive magics – we're fairies and water sprites, for crisssakes."

"So you're all going to sit on your asses while my people die out there!" Ben jumped to his feet, anger making his voice tremble. "This is a war! Don't quote me your stupid pacifist beliefs when I'm losing friends and family every single fucking day!"

All at once the Councillors started speaking at once, yelling at one another as they tried to make themselves heard. Once again, Chris marvelled at how quickly the behaviour of adults degenerated. He watched as the arguments veered towards personal insults. Though he was the youngest person in that room by far, never had he felt more old than he did at that moment.

Chris let the arguments continue for awhile or so longer before finally exasperated, he rapped on the table to get their attention. Astonished, as if they had all forgotten that he was present, the group turned their faces towards Chris.

"Odin, Riley, Lilah – I'm sorry. As you know, my vote counts for two. And I'm siding with Ben. So with Darryl, any other arguments you may have are moot. I understand the reluctance on your parts to be further involved but the fact of the matter is we have no choice." As the protests began to come in thick and thin, Chris held up his hand, "Please. Hear me out." As each of the Councillors nodded, Chris pointed out, "Lilah – you're right. You are pacifists, and your responsibilities as healers far outweigh any motivation to put you guys on the front line. However, what I'd like to do is have your people be available to orb scout teams who patrol the outer circuits at an agreed upon point just outside the dead zone to save them time and energy."

Chris paused as he watched Lilah nod, agreeing with his request, before turning his attention to his next target, "Riley – I agree that you guys don't know offensive magics. However, you DO know defensive magics. I'd like you to take on most of the magic classes that Ben and his team are running so that it frees up more resources for them. We'll split the classes into defensive and offensive, with everyone going through the defensive magics with your people first. All right?"

Not waiting for Riley's agreement, Chris pushed forward, "Lastly, Darryl's right. We need to involve mortals into this fight. Ideally I'd like to split the scout teams to be 50 witches and 50 others. Telepaths per team are a must – communications remain are number one advantage over Wyatt. Let's not lose sight of that."

Leaning forward, Chris made eye contact with each member at the table, "It is the lives of ALL our people that are at stake here, and we need to pull together if we are going to get through this." As the other members nodded their agreement, Chris took his leave, "Darryl, I'll let you run the show. If the rest of you will excuse me, I've got other matters to attend to."

* * *

She hadn't known it at the time, but it would be the last time that they would work together as a team.

_Her right leg was cramping, bent under her in an awkward position as she contorted her body to stay hidden in the shadows. Overhead, the full moon provided a soft glow of the forest clearing, illuminating a small figure standing nervously in the centre. _

"_Be patient," Her mother whispered into her ear, her voice soft and low._

_She nodded in agreement, her hand resting on the hilt of her knife. Her mother made a gesture, and signing her acknowledgement, Bianca crept closer to the edge of the clearing, dropping into position. She heard the soft rustle of grass beneath her mother's feet as she moved away from her location, circling the clearing to position herself on the opposite side._

"_Come on, come on. Where ARE you?" The light from the moon revealed the gap-toothed demon as he shifted nervously from foot to foot. He called out again, fretfully, "Come on, come on. If you ain't here in five minutes, I'm leaving. There's no way I'm going to let them catch me out."_

_Blue orbs materialized into the clearing. "Honestly, Phinks. It's your own fault. Why'd you change our normal meeting place?"_

"_Because," Phinks replied, looking over his shoulder, "I think they may be onto me. I didn't think it would hurt none to change up our locale. You brought the goods?"_

_The whitelighter sighed. "Yes, I brought you your…goods." Reaching into the voluminous folds of his robe the man withdrew a small brown package. Tossing it to the demon, he demanded, "What is Wyatt planning?"_

"_You didn't tell no one you were meeting me, did you, Marcus?" Phinks questioned, his eyes shifting left to right as he searched the shadows._

_Marcus frowned at the demon, obviously impatient, "No, I did not. I have never revealed my sources, you know that. Why are you acting this way? What is going on?"_

_Bianca's eyes met her mother's across the clearing._

_Wait for it, her mother mouthed._

_Avoiding the question, Phinks continued to peer around the clearing, "You know, I always thought your kind didn't like dealing with demons. 'specially those Elders. What changed your mind?"_

_Narrowing his eyes at Phinks, Marcus replied evenly, "Necessity is the mother of invention. And we just choose not to inform the Elders of every single thing we do."_

"_Ahhhh…" Phinks nodded, knowingly. "So that's how it is."_

"_Look," Marcus glared at the demon. "Do you have some info or not?"_

"_I got info all right," Phinks sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "In fact –,"_

_What –!_

_Marcus looked down stupidly, staring at the hilt of the knife protruding from his chest. Falling to his knees, he began to choke in disbelief, "You can't kill me." _

"_Normally, I'd agree," Bianca replied, coldly, as she emerged from her hiding place; her mother joined her side. "But that dagger's been dipped in the same poison that darklighter's use for their arrows."_

_The whitelighter grasped the hilt of the knife with both hands and with tremendous effort, yanked the knife out of his upper body. Sprawling on the ground, Marcus stared up in disbelief, gasping for breath as he tried to orb away, his entire body on fire with pain._

_Before he could fully dematerialize, Bianca calmly stepped forward, her boot crushing his outstretched hand. She felt the cold steel of the blade against her palm as the trick release in her wrist sheath freed her other knife and her fist clenched around the hilt. She saw his eyes widen with terror and she brought the knife down in a swift arc, slashing his throat from ear to ear. _

_Her mother watched impassively as his body twitched one last time and then became still. She spat, "Fool."_

"_I think I'm going to be sick," Phinks whimpered, stumbling away from the sight of the whitelighter's gaping throat and wide unseeing eyes. _

_Bianca averted her eyes from the body, picking up her other knife where it lay a few feet away, wiping both clean on the grassy floor. In her peripheral vision she could see the demon retch, and she felt her own stomach heave. Closing her eyes, she forced the queasiness back down, taking deep breaths. It didn't matter that she had killed before – there had been something too' personal' about this one. _

_All the others, they weren't close…not this close. I was throwing knives from across a room, from a distance. Not like this, where he stared into my eyes and bled all over the place…,Bianca thought to herself._

_She felt her mother's hand on her shoulder, "You did good. We did good. We eliminated the target before he got a chance to report back. Wyatt will be pleased. Our coven will be proud."_

_Bianca nodded in response, still unable to bring herself to turn around in view of the body. "What about him?" She jerked her head indicating Phinks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and swallowing down her queasiness. _

_Bianca's mother threw a cursory look at the demon informant, "Pathetic. I'll take care of this." She walked towards Phinks, who had finally finished retching and was leaning heavily against a tall, redwood tree. "You did good, Phinks. Wyatt will be pleased when I tell him you upheld your end of the bargain." Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small pouch, tossing it to the demon. _

_He blinked in surprise as it hit him in the chest, fumbling with it before finally getting his hands around it. Opening the pouch, he peered intently into the small sac before nodding satisfactorily. "Can I go now?"_

_Bianca's mother snorted, "Take care of the body first."_

"_Me?" Phinks squeaked, before nodding hastily at the assassin's expression. "Riiiiggghhhht. I'll, ah…I'll do that."_

_Nodding curtly, she turned on her heel and walked back towards Bianca. Catching her daughter's hand, she inquired softly, "You ready?" At her daughter's hesitation, she questioned, "What? What is it, Bianca?"_

"_Mom…do you…don't you…," Bianca stumbled over the words, the question refusing to roll off her tongue. "What do you feel when you kill?"_

_Bianca's mother gazed into her daughter's tortured eyes and knew that she needed to give her a response that would answer all her doubts. The elder woman gently cupped her daughter's chin, "You're an assassin, Bianca. Just like me. It's in your, no – our, blood."_

"_I feel nothing."_

A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

Crossing her leg so that her right boot, the one with the knife in it, was within reaching distance, Bianca called, "Enter!"

Her eyebrow raised as Zankou, and not one of his minions, entered her room. "Zankou. And to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I've just gotten word from one of the demons manning the supplies depot at Berkley. It looks like something may be going down out there. Not sure, though. It's up to you if you want to go now or wait until we find something a little more definite," Zankou shrugged in response.

Standing up, Bianca glanced around the now tidy room. It looked empty…desolate. Turning back to Zankou, Bianca said resolutely, "Let's just get this over with, shall we?"

Zankou nodded and gesturing to Bianca to follow him, he turned to leave the room. "If you will follow me."

"I'll be right out. Just let me change into something less…threatening," Bianca replied, looking down at her leather outfit. As practical as the outfit was for someone in her profession, there was no way it screamed 'helpless' innocent.

Indicating his agreement, Zankou disappeared into the hall to await her outside, shutting the door behind him. Swiftly doffing her top, she rummaged in her wardrobe for something a little more 'suitable.' Pulling out a white sweater streaked with scorch marks, she grinned. Another momento – it was perfect. Teamed with a pair of ripped jeans, she figured she looked sufficiently 'helpless.'

Opening the door to her room, she stepped outside into the hall where Zankou was waiting for her. He quirked an eyebrow at her outfit, "I'm afraid to ask how your sweater got into that condition."

She smiled coolly at the demon, her guard up, "It's not my sweater."

The demon blinked once before understanding dawned on his face. Returning her smile with an evil grin of his own, "I will take you to the supplies depot, if you will allow me." At her acquiesce, he shimmered out.

Taking a deep breath, Bianca shimmered out as well.

* * *

To be continued….Chris and Bianca meet – but is it love at first sight? 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Wow – thank you to my reviewers for such encouraging feedback. I'm glad that this story is interesting to a few of you – it makes the burning of the candle at both ends worth it. Also, I noted when I was uploading that it keeps changing my formatting so that the telepathic thoughts are surrounded by one set of colons on each end instead of a pair (e.g. _:example:_).

Icantthinkofafnick: I am so completely humbled by your comments that I'm speechless. Literally.

Sparkling Cherries: Writing 'action' sequences is one of the objectives I've set myself for this story – so rest assured, you'll get them!

Fanastygirl72: I wish I could type faster, honestly!

ChrisBianca: I'm glad you thought it was worth the wait. I can only hope that you will continue to think so as this story progresses.

Girl-with-the-green-eyes: I've always maintained the attitude that reviews are like gifts – I don't expect them, but when I do get them they bring me much happiness. So thank YOU!

Shadow Dark Night: I'm not sure if I can deliver, but I will promise to do my utmost.

**Providence**

**Chapter 4**

_I remember when Darryl first introduced me to Chris. To someone who had been a cop, I had to scoff at the sight of the skinny kid, who looked, on first sight, barely old enough to drink, let alone stand against the most powerful being in the world. I had joined the Resistance out of respect for Darryl; once upon a time, we'd been partners before…I trusted him with my life. This kid? With the slouching shoulders, quiet personality and soft voice? I didn't think he could find his way out of a paper bag, let alone lead thousands of people against Wyatt and his army of demons. How quickly my impression of him would change._

– from the memoirs of Leslie St. Claire

* * *

He slipped into the classroom, trying to be as unobtrusive as possible so as not to disturb the class. There were at least two dozen or so children there. The ages ranged from nine or ten to fourteen or fifteen. At the head of the classroom, the teacher was lecturing her young class, nodding imperceptibly at Chris as he stood self-consciously at the back of the room. 

"All right, so that's chapter 12 for homework tonight. And I see our guest speaker for today has just shown up," Sheila grinned, gesturing to the back of the classroom. "Why don't we give him a warm greeting children, and maybe he'll come up here and answer some of your questions."

"Hello Sheila," Chris smiled nervously as the students swiveled in their seats to stare wide eyed at the young man. "Hello gang."

"Hello," a chorus of young voices greeted his ears. Inwardly cringing at Sheila's outstretched hand, Chris reluctantly made his way to the front of the classroom. _Why did I agree to this again?_ Chris wondered to himself.

Noticing his discomfort, Sheila smiled at him in amusement and took his hand, pulling him to her side. "Well, now that you're here, why don't we start? Class, would someone like to tell Chris what we've been learning today so he knows why we've asked him here?"

Raising his hand, a small boy of about ten volunteered. Fair-haired, his brown eyes full of gravity, he was the only one to volunteer amongst his peers. Sheila nodded indulgently.

"Go ahead, Daniel."

"We've been learning about the Resistance and the scouts. Mrs. Morris wants us to understand what being part of the Resistance really means; not from the hero tales we hear in the mess hall, but what everyone really does," Daniel's young voice filled the room.

"Good answer, Daniel," Looking askance at Chris, Sheila explained, "Both of Daniel's parents are part of the scouts."

Nodding, Chris perched himself casually on Sheila's desk at the front. "Well, maybe I'd better find out what you guys know before we go any further. Since Daniel's got both his parents as part of our scouts, let's start with him. Daniel, can you tell me what exactly do 'scouts' do?"

Daniel's brow furrowed in thought. "Ummmm – they make sure we're safe," he finally replied.

Chris nodded. "And _how_ do they do that?"

"Uh – they work in teams and make sure the areas around our home are demon free. They also search for food to bring back to everyone. And they file 'reports.' My mom is always complaining about all the 'paperwork' they have. They said there's so much paperwork they're more in danger from papercuts than demons." The class erupted into giggles. "Sorry, sir."

Chris grinned. "Please don't call me 'sir.' I'm feeling old enough as it is. Call me Chris, okay?" Daniel and the other kids shyly nodded. "And Daniel's right. They do have a lot of paperwork. Can anyone tell me why?"

All the kids shook their heads.

"Well – they have to report on what they see out there so that the Council knows the true condition of what exactly is going on up world. They act as our eyes and ears, helping us stay one step ahead of the demons." He pointed at one of the boys at the back who had his hand up, "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

The boy piped up. "It's Drake. They also do whatever needs to be done so that we're all safe. They risk everything for that, for the safety of our home and for us."

"Exactly," Chris made eye contact with each student in the classroom. "And that is why they are so vitally important to the Resistance. I won't lie to you – it's probably the most dangerous role we have in the Resistance. Being a scout is a tough job – yes, everyone on base looks up to them, but there is no harder job in the Resistance than that of a scout. There aren't enough of them and they get spread thin all the time. And more often than not, scouts are put in the front line of a lot of dangerous situations. It's work that is both dull and dangerous, if not one then the other. Scouts carry out missions whenever necessary – not when it's convenient for them. It's a tough calling and it's a wonder to me that anyone would _want_ the job. But they're a good bunch…the best."

Chris' eyes clouded briefly, "And the better you are at your job, the more likely you'll be asked to take on the more risky missions. Sheila's told me that most of you here today want to follow in your parent's footsteps as scouts for the Resistance. And I appreciate it. But I want you to realize it's not all guts and glory. It's a life of sacrifices – you'll have very little time for yourself. I want you to think about this really hard – chances are if you decide you want to become a scout, you _will_ die doing your duty. And probably alone. Does that frighten you?"

One of the older students, a girl, stood up. "Yes. Yes, it does. Only an idiot wouldn't be afraid. My sister thinks I'm crazy for thinking about joining the scouts. My uncle was a scout. He didn't come back from his last mission. So I _know_ there's consequences. But – but maybe it's not about wanting. It's about needing. I _need_ to join the scouts. I can't sit back and let demons overrun _my_ world, _my_ home. I…I just know I have to be a part of this, that I have to protect _my_ home and this is the only way I know how."

Chris regarded the young girl thoughtfully, who was staring back at him, almost defiantly. "I know."

She seemingly deflated at Chris' soft tone, and sat back down abruptly with a thump.

Another hand raised, "Sir – uh, I mean Chris…?"

Chris smiled gently at the student, a twelve-year-old boy with bright blue eyes sitting near the front with a striped shirt, "Yes?"

"Mrs. Morris said you were the leader of the Resistance," The boy spoke hesitantly, "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Very good question," Chris pondered his response. "And to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure what it means, either. I can tell you that I feel a great responsibility to all of you and your families, for your safety and for your future." He threw a helpless look in Sheila's direction, "And I can promise you that there isn't a day that goes by that that isn't my number one priority."

Taking pity on Chris, Sheila decided to put a stop to the questions, "All right, class. That's it for today. Let's thank Chris for stopping by and speaking with us. Class dismissed."

Delighted, the children hastily scrambled out of their chairs, practically running for the door. Few of the children remembered to toss out their goodbyes as they rushed past the adults to freedom.

"Thanks!"

"Thank you!"

"Bye, Mrs. Morris! Bye, Chris!"

Shaking her head in amusement, Sheila called out after the students, "I'll see you all tomorrow at 9am sharp!"

A couple of groans from the hallway drifted back into the class indicating that the children had indeed heard her. Chuckling, Sheila turned back to her young friend, whom she thought of as practically another son, "Thanks for making the time to stop by, Chris. The kids really appreciate it."

Chris shrugged. "Your welcome. I just hope they all really think hard about what they're getting themselves into. What am I thinking?" Chris ran his hand through his hair agitatedly. "How the hell would they even begin to understand what they're signing up for? Christ – they're still kids. They don't see the danger at that age. All they see is the adventure."

"Did you?" Sheila pointed out.

Shooting his friend a weary look, "No. But that's different. I had the Charmed Ones protecting me."

Sheila sighed sympathetically. "I wish we didn't but we need those kids, Chris. If the war doesn't end soon, they will be exposed to the war sooner or later."

"I hate it. I hate it…I hate this war…I hate that we have to push these kids into becoming miniature adults…I hate that they're stuck underground learning survival skills when they should be outside playing. I hate that we need to even consider training them because we don't think the war will end in their lifetime. I hate this, Sheila," Chris swore, passionately. "I really hate this."

Putting her hand on his arm, she tried to placate Chris. She could feel the tension in his body and decided she should change the topic, "Darryl tells me you're heading up the recon mission tonight."

Chris winced at the slightly accusatory tone Sheila's statement conveyed. "Not you too. I don't need this right now. I _have_ to go, okay?"

Looking into his eyes, Sheila saw the tired but firm resolution and knew she wouldn't be able to persuade him otherwise. "You're going to have to start delegating, Chris. You don't have _time_ to carry out these missions yourself all the time. Other things are going to start to suffer."

Hearing the wisdom in his friend's words, Chris nodded reluctantly. "You're right. And I know that. And I will start to delegate more. I promise. But I can't. Not just yet. We're short on scouts right now. Maybe once we've got the mortals on board and the resource pressure starts lightening up…"

Sheila's mouth quirked as Chris' voice trailed off, "I'm going to hold you to that, you know?"

Chris returned Sheila's small smile with one of his own, "I know. Believe me, I know." Glancing at the clock on the wall, Chris said regretfully, "I've got to get going. We're moving out soon."

Gripping his arm tightly, Sheila leaned forward to press a quick peck on his right cheek, "You be safe, you hear?"

Returning the quick embrace, Chris smiled, "Always. See you when I get back?" Squeezing Sheila's arm reassuringly, he headed towards the door of the classroom.

She watched him walk away, giving him a small wave as he glanced one last time over his shoulder before ducking out the doorway.

Even when he had disappeared from her sight she stood there frozen, staring at the door. She'd been feeling unsettled lately…uneasy. Feeling like it was the calm before the storm. She shook off her nerves, glancing one last time at the empty doorway before reluctantly turning back to finish packing up her things for the day.

She shivered as goosebumps ran down her spine.

_Be safe, Chris._

* * *

Shivering under the night sky, Les waited for his eyes to adjust to the pale moonlight that was the only illumination penetrating the heavy darkness of the night. The group of six Resistance fighters were huddled underneath a row of hedges on the perimeter of the campus. 

_:Looks like they're about to switch shifts. Tell the others to get ready.: _Chris 'said' curtly at Les. Les grimaced, not commenting on the irritation that came through Chris' thoughts loud and clear. His friend had not been in the best of moods when they had met up with Duncan and his team to carry out the recon mission. No doubt the rather lengthy and tedious Council meeting he had attended earlier in the day had influenced Chris' mood. Sighing silently to himself, Les passed on Chris' message to the others. The advantage of having a telepath on every mission made silent communication a standard. Nodding his acknowledgement, Les mindsent to the rest of the team to get ready to run.

The library was guarded by ten demons on the rooftop, making it virtually impossible for anyone to sneak in without their notice. Luckily, one of the shift changes occurred during the night, giving the Resistance fighters the break they needed to hopefully approach the building under the cover of darkness.

The tension in Chris' stomach was almost enough to make him want to kneel over and heave; his neck and shoulders were tight with anxiety as he continued to monitor the demons from his vantage point. _If they knew we were here, they would have attacked us by now. So why am I scared shitless?_

_:You okay, Chris:_ Les' mind voice asked calmly, obviously picking up on Chris' anxiety. Chris could tell by the tone of Les' voice that his thoughts were directed solely at him.

Grimacing, Chris thought back, _:I'll be glad when this is over.:_

_:You and me both, kiddo:_

A commotion from the building top drew his attention away from his friend. Glancing up, Chris could see the two demons facing towards them turn around to greet the next pair ready to relieve them. Gesturing with his hand silently, Chris began a dead run towards the building, as fast as he could maneuver while crouched over at the waist. Behind him, he could hear the light tread of his friends following as silently as they could. It seemed like it took forever to reach the side of building, when in reality it likely took less than ten minutes to run across the clearing. Reaching the side of the library, Chris flattened himself against the wall, praying that luck was still on their side.

Hidden in the shadows, each fighter flattened himself against the wall as much as possible. Chris risked a glance upwards. The growling of the demons could still be heard, indicating that they had yet to complete the changeover. Holding his breath, he listened carefully as the growling became less distinct as the conversation obviously drew to a close. Ice crawled up his spine, and his stomach was one huge knot of fear and nausea as he continued to look upwards. Eventually, two demons appeared in view, looking westwards but thankfully not downwards.

Chris nodded at Les who then silently signalled two of the scouts to immediately begin to edge up against the window they were currently positioned beneath. One of the scouts cautiously peered into the window, giving the all clear. Together, she and another scout cautiously edged the window glass upwards, propping the window open in place with a piece of wood. Duncan quickly dropped to his knees, giving her a quick boost up and she was up and over the windowsill. The others followed swiftly, with Les reaching back over the window from the other side to pull Duncan in last.

The room they had entered was one of many that made up the building's past life as a library. The room housed the collection of one of the major donors to the library. While some of the maps that Chris wanted were located here, the ones that provided the subterranean maps of the Bay area were located in another room. Unfortunately, according to the memories of former Berkley students, the room with the subterranean maps they wanted was located on the other side of the building. Chris jerked his head towards the door and motioned for Les and Duncan to follow him. In accordance with the plan, the other three members of the scout team began to rummage through the materials in the current room; searching for anything that could be of use and guarding their way back out.

Slowly opening the door, Chris stuck his head around to peep into the hallway. Still unsure whether there were any demons actually inside the building, Chris cautiously stepped into the hallway, holding his breath. When no demons jumped them, Chris slowly let out his breath silently and began to move forward slowly, with Les and Duncan right behind him.

They crept along the dusty passages, moving quietly. Chris could almost feel the fear begin to start cramping his stomach. He grimaced and forced himself to take slow, deep breaths. He wasn't even twenty yet and he was sure he could feel an ulcer developing. He felt his nose twitch and quickly covered his nostrils with his sleeve. Glancing down, the pale light from the moon revealed the dusty floors of the library. Chris felt some of the tension leave his shoulders; the dust meant that no one had walked in this hallway for a long time and was unlikely to, if their luck held.

Like a maze, Chris moved through the hallways, relying on his memory from the campus tour he had taken over a year ago. Unfortunately, all the campus maps that they had available to plan the mission were a layout of the campus grounds. There were no plans for the layout of building interiors. Another reason why Chris had felt compelled to lead the mission. Turning the corner again, his pace quickened as they neared their target.

Twenty steps left.

Fifteen….

Ten…

* * *

Ascream rang out, echoing off the empty hallway. 

_:What the hell was that:_ Les asked in alarm.

A second scream rang out again before it was abruptly cut short.

_:Is it one of ours:_ Duncan asked, anxiously.

Les shook his head. _:Nah – I'm in touch with our guys. They're sitting tight.:_

_:You and Duncan stick to the plan. The maps we want are in the room ahead. I'll check out the commotion.: _Chris indicated with a jerk of his head.

_:I don't like this, Chris:_ Les thought, doubtfully. _:I think we ALL should stick to the plan. It's not our business if it isn't one of us. This mission is risky enough as it is. We don't need to go looking for trouble too.:_

_:Who's in charge here:_ Chris glared at Les. _:Just do what I say for once, for crissakes. Get the goddamn maps and then pick up the others and meet me at the rendezvous point. Got it:_

Acknowledging Chris' irritation and slightly shocked by Chris' language, Les didn't dare push the matter any further. Nodding slightly, he gestured to Duncan to follow him. He sent a final mindsent to Chris, _:Fine. But stay in contact with me, okay:_

Nodding curtly his assent, Chris moved away from his two friends, jogging silently back down the hall and turning the corner. Moving stealthily, he headed in the direction to where he thought he had heard the screams come from. _Come on, come on…_Chris thought…_where the hell are you? _

* * *

"Hit me, you stupid cow," Bianca spat at the demon, after letting out an earsplitting scream. 

"What?" The demon looked at her askance, "My lord Zankou said I was to guard you until the humans came to rescue you."

Bianca rolled her eyes, "We want this to look real, remember? Now hit me you pathetic fool."

"I'm not sure," the demon replied, doubtfully. "If Zankou didn't say anything to me about it, I don't want to do anything that could get me in trouble. Do you know what Zankou did to the last demon that disobeyed his orders?"

"You freaking coward," Bianca taunted. "Are you a demon or a pathetic idiot?" Moving forward swiftly, she drove her fist into the demon's stomach as hard as she could. "Now hit me!"

The demon doubled over upon impact, surprised by the viciousness of the attack. Snarling, he backhanded the witch making her fly across the room as she let out another piercing scream. Her scream abruptly ended as she hit the wall and landed awkwardly with a thump on the floor. Breathing hard, she slowly pushed herself up on all fours. She blinked away the stars in her eyes, focusing on the red dot on the white linoleum floor. As the dot began to grow, she quickly realized that the dot was caused from blood dripping from a cut in her mouth where her teeth had gnashed the side of her mouth. Spitting out the blood forming in her mouth, she looked up at the demon who was still eyeing her angrily. She sneered at the demon, "That all you got, cow?"

With a roar, the demon picked her up with both hands slamming her into the wall. Using one arm to pin her against the wall, the demon slowly drew his fist back. "You won't be so cocky when I finish with you." He slammed his fist into her face so forcefully her head was knocked backwards against the wall.

She must have blacked out because the next thing she knew, the grip around her throat was suddenly released, and she dropped to the floor like a stone. Her head pounding she could hear the sounds of a scuffle. Blinking, she tried to get the room to stop spinning to no avail. A loud _crack, _like the sound of glass breaking and then scent of scorched smoke teased her nostrils. A shadowy figure dropped down next to her and she lifted her hand futilely to ward it off. Her hand was caught in a gentle grip before a soft voice said, "You're going to be okay. I've got you. Can you get up?"

With the help of the shadowy figure, Bianca stumbled to her feet. Wincing, she confessed, "I don't think I can see too well right now."

"Not too worry," the voice of a young man soothed in her ear. "I'll be your eyes, okay? But we've got to get out of here…right now."

Knowing that she was playing a part and that everything depended on her rescuer on buying her act, she asked suspiciously, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

A slight pause, and then, hesitantly, "Let's just say a friend, for now. Explanations can wait. Look – I just saved your life. I think it's pretty clear that I'm not here to hurt you."

The mildness of that voice, the slight chiding quality like a parent chastening a child, made her feel safe. Inwardly recoiling at her involuntary emotional response, she told herself that she was merely feeling vulnerable after her mother's death. Focusing herself, she shoved her unsettling feelings aside, merely replying, "All right. What about the demon though?"

"Him?" Chris eyed the scorched mark on the tiled floor. "You won't have to worry about him ever again, I promise. Can you stand?"

Wincing, Bianca got to her feet with the assistance of her mysterious rescuer. _I may have over did it when I made that demon mad_, she thought ruefully. She did not have to do any pretending about her aches and pains. _The frigging demon certainly did his job_, she grimaced to herself as she gripped her side as a white hot flash of pain shot through her.

"You okay?" Chris asked anxiously as he saw the woman wince. He judged her to be around his age, though slightly older. It was hard to tell given that the whole right side of her face was swollen from the beating he had interrupted. There was a long but shallow cut across her forehead, the blood dripping into her left eye – another source of her sight problem. Ripping off a piece of his sleeve, Chris tenderly pressed the cloth against her forehead. "Here, hold that. Look, we really need to get a move on."

"Yeow!" Bianca yelped at the soft touch, the cut on her forehead a definite sore spot. She rubbed at her eyes in hopes that her vision would clear. "I'm not sure I can walk anywhere." Her hands came away with dried caked blood and she blinked furiously to clear her eyes. She narrowed her eyes at the young man who was currently supporting her with one arm. She could make out the shape of his head, but his features were still blurry to her. She only hoped that her vision wasn't permanently affected.

_:Chris, I'm back with the team at the rendezvous point…where the hell are you? Whatever you did must have set off an alarm…the demons on the roof just doubled.:_

Chris winced at the strength of Les' 'thought'. _:I'm on my way. And I'm bringing a friend. I'm going to orb us straight out of here.: _Tightening his grip around the woman, encouraging her to lean on him, Chris could hear the sounds of pounding feet thundering towards them. With a final glance at the door, it slammed open and three demons burst into the room as Chris orbed the both of them away just in time.

The demons snarled. They were too late.

The quarry was gone.

* * *

Les looked up worriedly as the blue orbs began to materialize. "It's about time!" 

"Good to see you too," Chris replied a little sarcastically. "Did you get the maps?"

Holding aloft the long cylindrical tube, Les nodded. "I already sent the others ahead. Let's move, before we run into more trouble. Who's your friend? She doesn't look so hot."

"Well you wouldn't look so 'hot' either if you just had your head bashed in by some demon," the woman, who was leaning heavily on Chris, bit out angrily before Chris could provide a response. Her vision still blurry, she turned her head towards the direction of another inky blob to her right. "Next time you go three rounds with a demon I'd like to see how you look."

_:Fiesty:_ Les winked at Chris. Out loud he said, "Let me give you a hand there…we've got quite a bit a ways to go before we get back." Grabbing her other arm, he looped it over his head so that between Chris and himself they supported the injured woman.

Resisting the urge to plant her fist into this new comer's face, Bianca swallowed her irritation as she reminded herself of her mission. Instead she gritted her teeth, "I'd crawl on my hands and knees on broken glass to get away from this benighted place."

She could hear the smile in the voice of her 'knight in shining armor', "I don't think it will come to that." She almost took offense at the gentle mocking, but found she couldn't begrudge him the mild humour at her expense. Against her better judgment, she could feel the corners of her mouth creep upwards.

"That's more like it," Les grinned. "I was beginning to worry that I'd have to entertain myself all the way back. Your rescuer isn't big on conversation you know."

"Only because I know you like the sound of your own voice too much," Chris retorted, good-naturedly. "And he's right. If you don't start talking with him, he'll start talking just to hear himself speak."

"Hey! I don't have to stay here and be insulted," Les protested.

"No, you could double back and make sure we aren't being followed," Chris pointed out, evenly.

"You really think the demons could be following us?" Bianca piped in, pretending to be worried, deciding it was time to interject herself a little bit more into the conversation. After all, she was on a mission – she needed them to trust her.

Misinterpreting the furtive glance she threw over her shoulder as fear, Les was quick to reassure her, "Not to worry, lovely lady. I'll just double back and make sure we're alone." Nodding at Chris over her head, Les unhooked Bianca's arm from around his head. "You going to be able to continue on your own for a bit?"

"I'm not an invalid," Bianca protested unconvincingly as she stumbled. Chris adjusted his grip, jerking his head in Les' direction, clearly indicating that the telepath should get moving.

"Noooooo, you're certainly not an invalid. Drunk, maybe. But definitely not an invalid," Les said with a straight face. "Don't go too far. I'll be right back."

Bianca gritted her teeth again, tempted to knee the irritating man where it counted. She shivered as she felt a warmth breath on her ear, "Don't worry. Sometimes I feel exactly the same way."

"I don't know what you mean," Bianca replied coolly.

"Sure you don't, princess," Chris replied, amused by her haughtiness. He had never met anyone quite like her. Here she had been attacked by a vicious demon and instead of freaking out, she acted like she was about to sit down for a cup of tea with the queen. "If you lean on me I think you'll find you'll be able to walk."

"Fine," Bianca replied, her tone grating. She was NOT amused by the princess comment. "Mind filling me in on what the hell is going on?"

She felt her 'rescuer' shrug as they hobbled along together down the tunnel. "We were checking out some materials from the library when I heard you scream. We decided I should investigate."

"You were checking out materials from the library?" Bianca sneered sarcastically. "Yeah, right."

"How about you?" Chris questioned. "Why were you there? And why was that demon…" Chris paused as he searched for a way to phrase her attack delicately so as not to alarm her.

"Kicking the shit out of me?" Bianca finished his phrase. She shrugged. "I'm a witch, he's a demon."

"A witch?" Chris inquired. "What kind of powers do you have?" He looked down at the young woman who was stumbling beside him as she shook her head regretfully.

"I can cast warding spells but that's about it. I was minding my own business when I was attacked by one of those probe things. The next thing I knew, I was in that room with a demon telling me I had to join 'lord Wyatt' or else." Bianca smoothly recited the agreed upon story. "And then you showed up. So you going to tell me where we're going or what?"

"We're going back to base," Chris responded, digesting Bianca's story. "We're almost there…just a little bit longer. How are you holding up?"

"Fine," Bianca said, a little dismissively. "Base, what base?"

"I thought Wyatt had already eliminated all the witches we weren't able to save," Chris mused, aloud. "How is it that you're still alive?"

"I have no idea," Bianca replied harshly, not wanting to be caught in her hastily woven web of lies. "It's not like I stopped to ask. So are you going to tell me where we're going or what?"

"The Resistance. You'll be safe there," Chris reassured her.

"I've heard of them. I thought they were some two bit operation," Bianca probed, none too gently.

"Hey! It's a first class operation, let me tell you," Les interjected, as he suddenly appeared on Bianca's right. A nod to Chris and _:Everything's a okay. No sign of any demons behind us. Duncan says it's clear skies ahead too.:_ Bending his head towards Bianca's, Les said proudly, "See for yourself."

They had caught up with the other members of the scout team, who were now all standing in front of what looked liked a collapsed section of the tunnel. Using her one good eye which wasn't swollen shut, Bianca could make out the blurry edges of the dead end. "I don't get it."

"It's an illusion," Les explained, proudly. "One of our witches cast this spell to make it look like a collapsed section of the tunnel. The magic of illusion keeps demons from stumbling across it."

"Les," Chris said, warningly. "Go open the door."

As the group stepped through the illusion, Bianca gasped as she saw what lay on the 'other' side of the debris. In front of her lay a huge steel door, much like one found on a bank vault; in fact, it had been, before it had been dragged here to serve as the first line of defense to the base. Les placed his palms against the door, and the slow, grating noise of metal on metal could be heard as the magical locking system recognized him. Within seconds the door swung open and the scout group stepped foot into the base.

Assisted by her rescuer Bianca painfully limped over the metal ledge of the doorway, feeling slightly panicked as the door immediately swung shut behind them with a loud bang.

Chris glanced down at the young woman at his side, seeing the fear flit across her face. "Hey, you okay?"

Acknowledging that she was beyond the point of no return, she nodded her head. Wide-eyed, she gaped in amazement at the scene before her. The base was an enormous underground structure of steel and reinforced concrete – a former underground shopping concourse. Everywhere she looked, people were bustling with activity. Already the rest of the small group of Resistance fighters that she had accompanied had been absorbed into the crowds, leaving her alone with the two young men at her side. As she shook her head in silent wonderment, she quickly realized how foolish she, her mother and others like them in Wyatt's stronghold had been to so quickly dismiss the Resistance's efforts as insignificant. It quickly dawned on Bianca by the sheer number of people housed here that the Resistance wasn't some fly-by-night rebellion. This was a serious endeavour and her side had been seriously arrogant in thinking that the Resistance had succeeded in resisting Wyatt's efforts mainly through fortune so far.

"Gets them all like that the first time," Les grinned at Bianca's astonishment. "We've succeeded in keeping a low profile so far by flying under the demons' radar, but we're a top notch outfit."

Chris rolled his eyes, "Save the propaganda for now, will you? I think we should see our guest to the infirmary first." Glancing down at the young woman who appeared slightly shell-shocked, "Come on, let's get you fixed up, okay?"

Startled out of her reverie by the slight prodding, Bianca quickly agreed. There would be time later to fully scope out the Resistance and it's base. First she needed to get her wounds treated before they became infected and hampered her ability to move freely. Then she would do some covert spying to get an idea of the strength of the Resistance. And then…

Les' voice interrupted her thoughts, "Don't you need to get back to command central?" She watched as he jerked his head to the right, clearly directing his question to his friend. Her ears pricked up in interest - obviously her rescuer was someone important. Bianca squinted, trying uselessly to get the blurry edges of his image to snap into focus.

Chris shook his head, "Let's see our guest off first, okay?"

Shrugging his shoulders, Les quickly looped his arm under the woman's shoulder and between the two men, the three quickly moved forward. She tried to maintain her bearings but dizzy with pain, Bianca quickly lost track of the number of twist and turns the three took in the complex maze of hallways. She did notice as they made what felt like the umpteenth turnoff that the corridors were becoming less and less crowded. Clearly, wherever they were heading, the general public seemed to be restricted from access.

Finally, they entered a small hallway where the waft of antiseptic solutions floated to her nostrils. Narrowing her eyes, she could make out the blinding white light bouncing off the gleaming white walls and tiles. The hall opened up into a larger room and along one side of the wall was a row of chairs with an assorted number of people in varying states of health. Some were coughing, others sneezing and some even sleeping! There were a couple of children with some of the adults, their heads cuddled on their parent's lap. She averted her eyes from the sight of this innocence, instead focusing on the woman to her right who was talking to her rescuers.

"…head right on in, then," the woman was finishing as she nodded at Bianca. Dressed in white robes, her face had a pinched expression as she glanced down at her clipboard. "Room 580. I just need a name, dear."

"Bianca."

The woman nodded briskly and wrote it down on her little clipboard, "Last name."

Eyes flashing, Bianca replied, guardedly, "It's _just_ Bianca."

Before an argument could ensue, Chris quickly cut the other woman off, "Look, why don't you finish that after the whitelighter gets a look at her, okay? I want to talk to you about who else has been in today in the meantime." Sighing impatiently, the woman grimaced her acceptance.

Chris glanced over Bianca's head, meeting Les' eyes, "Can you take her in? I just want to check who else has been brought in."

Nodding his head, Les reassured his friend, "Not too worry. I'll take care of everything." Tightening his grip on Bianca, he instructed, "Lean on me, okay? It's just a couple of feet down the hall and we can get you all fixed up."

Nodding her assent, she began to hobble down the hall when she stopped abruptly and turned back. "Wait!" she called out to the other man who had helped her. She squinted again, making out brown hair and a lanky frame, "I didn't thank you for helping me back there."

Chris glanced up from the clipboard he had been purveying. "No, you didn't." He arched his eyebrow in question as the young woman continued to squint at him, "Anything else?"

"How about your name, so I can thank you properly?" Bianca replied, a little waspishly.

Chris grinned at her tone, slightly amused at her obvious reluctance at expressing her appreciation. "It's Chris. Chris Halliwell."

She sputtered in surprise. _Could this be the leader of the Resistance? But he sounds so young. So…_

"Something the matter?"

Bianca shook her head, "It's just…it's just…"

A young woman burst into the hall, her eyes wildly searching before landing on her target, "Chris – we need you in the command central, pronto. Darryl's got a situation."

Nodding at the messenger, Chris handed the clipboard back to the whitelighter on his left, "I'm coming." Turning back to Bianca, he smiled reassuringly at the young woman, much like a parent to a child, "Look, I've got to go, but you'll be okay here. Les will make sure the whitelighters will take good care of you. I'll see you later, okay?"

Seething at his patronizing tone, she would've slugged him if she could. Instead, she could only watch as he quickly turned on his heel without waiting for a response.

She watched as the young man walked away, fingering her pendant.

Les watched the exchange between his friend and their guest. _Interesting_. Aloud he asked, "You ready to go now?"

Nodding solemnly, she let herself be led away. But inside…inside one thought pounded through her head over and over again.

_Bastard._

* * *

To be continued…. 

A/N: I hope I didn't mislead you all too much with my comment last time of 'love at first sight.' As you can see, this story isn't intended to be a quick 'let's get together', happy, fluffy romance story. Chris and Bianca WILL end up together (after all, this is the prequel to season 6 as well as 'No Fate' when you think about it) but this story is kind of the journey of how they get there.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Woohoo! Updated within a week – that has to be some kind of record for me lately, no? Someone asked why Les hasn't picked up on Bianca's 'intentions.' I confess that in my alt-u, I conveniently have telepaths unable to 'read' other people's thoughts unless they do so actively – which Les wouldn't do arbitrarily as it wouldn't be ethical and he's one of the good guys. (See the allusions to this concept in No Fate – Chapter 4 and Providence – Chapter 1.) But who knows…Bianca _might_ let something 'slip'…

Thanks to my reviewers: Charmed Ravenclaw, Zeria, Sparkling Cherries, chattypandagurl, Shadow Dark Night, Fanastygirl721, IcantthinkofaFnick. Never doubt the power of your reviews to influence the direction of this story.

**Providence **

**Chapter 5**

_I dreamed that my mother came to me…alive…happy. She had come to take me away, away from all the pain…the fear…the death. She held her arms out to me and I began to run towards her, knowing that I would be safe in her embrace. As I neared, she began to fade away. I tried to run faster to get to her. I pleaded with her to not leave me behind…but it seemed like she couldn't hear me. And then she was gone…and I woke up feeling more frightened than I had ever felt in my entire life._

Taken from the diaries of Bianca, former assassin

* * *

Leslie paced up and down the hall, his patience wearing thin. He had a million things he had to do and he still needed to get their new friend settled. He had deposited their guest, _Bianca_, he reminded himself, in the examination room and left to give her some privacy with the whitelighter. _What could be taking so long?_ he wondered, staring at the closed door. _How long does it take for a whitelighter to heal someone already?_

He whipped his head around as the door creaked opened and a young woman stepped out. Eying her critically, he placed her to be in her mid-twenties. With her face no longer swollen or bruised, he could see the intelligence in her deep brown eyes and read the slight wariness in her facial expression. Les looked at the whitelighter who had followed Bianca out and questioned, "Everything all right?"

The whitelighter nodded briskly before walking off, "Fine. Now if you'll excuse me…I have other patients I need to attend to."

Bianca scowled at the whitelighter's back as the man quickly moved out of earshot, saying sarcastically to Les, "Nice bedside manner."

"He's busy. You saw the line up outside. He's trying to help as many as he can as quickly as he can," Les shrugged off the whitelighter's attitude. "Besides, you were one of the lucky ones. Because your injuries were so severe, you got bumped to the head of the line. Some of those poor folks out there have been waiting hours to see someone. Anyways, now that you're fixed up why don't I show you where you'll be staying?"

He led her down the hall and quickly turned the corner. Startled, it took a couple of minutes for it to sink in before Bianca realized that she was supposed to follow him. Irritated she yelled out, "Hey, wait a sec!" Walking briskly, she caught up with him just as he turned a second corner.

Turning back in surprise, Les blinked as he waited for Bianca to catch up, "Sorry. I don't mean to be rude. I didn't realize that I had almost left you behind there."

Conscious of the need to obtain their trust and appear friendly, Bianca nodded her acceptance of the apology instead of doing what she really wanted – which would likely have involved some form of violence. Falling into step with Les she asked, "Do you mind telling me where we're headed?"

"We need to get you settled. I'll find someone to show you around as well. I'd do it myself but I've got a briefing in half an hour I've got to get to," Les explained. They passed several turnoffs before heading down a steel staircase. Entering the landing, they traversed the foyer to the other side where another three corridors branched off. Taking the left most one, Les led Bianca quickly through the halls, "I know it's probably a little bit too quick for you to get your bearings but we're now on sub-level five. This is where most of the general population is housed."

"General population?" Bianca queried.

"Innocents mainly. Any one who isn't really involved with the day-to-day fighting," Les explained. "Those of us who are actively part of the Resistance, like Chris and myself, are located on the other side of the complex. Closer to command central, where all operations are coordinated."

Bianca absorbed all of this, "I…see…"

As they passed a set of double doors, Les jerked his head in their direction, "Through those doors is the mess hall. They serve breakfast from 6 am to 9am, lunch from 11am to 2pm and dinner from 5pm to 7pm. Anything outside of those times and you'll have to fix your own meal. Lorelai, who is charge of the kitchens, keeps one of the refrigerators stocked with snacks and other assorted goodies if you get hungry."

"Do people usually eat together?" Bianca asked, curious in spite of herself. Back at Wyatt's stronghold 'servants'(assorted lesser demons) brought meals to Bianca and her mother's room. On rare occasions, Bianca and her mother would dine with the rest of their coven. Meals taken in the privacy of their rooms allowed the assassins to relax, which would not be possible if they had to eat in a communal room in the midst of demons and other creatures all looking for a way to eliminate the competition and move up in the power hierarchy.

Les nodded. "I think everyone finds it a comfort. Lorelai makes a tremendous effort to create a welcoming and lively atmosphere. If you ever want to know the latest gossip on base, the mess hall is the place to go." Les grinned unapologetically, "I confess that I try to take as many of my meals there as possible since I'm such a sucker for gossip."

Another turn and they entered a hallway that seemed to go on forever. Doors on either side lined the corridor. As they passed a bunch of the doors, Bianca noticed that there were place cards with names on each door. Some had a singular name, others had numerous. The hall was brightly lit and though empty, Bianca could hear the soft murmurs of voices from some of the rooms as people's voices drifted through their doors. Les abruptly stopped and opened a door, "Now, this will be your room."

The room was smaller than the one she had had at Wyatt's stronghold. No surprise there as she had shared _that_ room with her mother. Stepping over the threshold, the fluorescent light from above revealed a sparsely furnished room in a mismatch of styles – a bed, desk, chair, bookcase and wardrobe. Les pulled the empty place card from the holder on the door, filled in Bianca's name and slipped it back into place. "Girl's bathroom is down the hall on the right. Get there early or there won't be any hot water left. I know it's not much…" he trailed off apologetically.

Bianca shook her head, "No, it's fine. In fact…in kind of reminds me of my days when I lived in the college dormitory."

Les sighed, relieved. "I wasn't sure what you were expecting…Where were you living when you were upworld?"

Bianca choose her next words carefully – she didn't want to offer a complicated lie that she would get caught in later. Better to stick to half-truths, "My uncle's house is located outside the city centre. He was a bit of a recluse. My mom and I stayed with him when things first started going crazy. She figured no one would bother us out there."

"Where is your mother now?" Les asked, curious in spite of himself.

Bianca looked away, "She's dead. She was killed."

"I'm sorry," Les apologized. To cover his embarrassment at his faux-pas, he said instead, "You know – that's what we're trying to stop. We could use an extra hand, especially since you're a witch. We could use all the help we could get actually. Being a part of the Resistance…you'd be helping to stop the very demons that killed your family."

"I'll think about it," Bianca replied, non-committal.

"Well – I've got to go to my briefing but I'll try to find someone to help show you around," Les looked at his watch. "Maybe we should wait till morning as it's pretty late. Why don't you settle in for the night and I'll either send someone by or I'll come myself tomorrow morning and we'll get you some basic supplies as well. Will you be all right on your own?"

Bianca nodded, "I'll be fine. And Les? Thanks. I…I appreciate everything you've done for me. Really."

Les smiled in response. "Glad to help. And Bianca? Welcome to the Resistance."

Shutting the door on her benefactor, Bianca leaned against the door, sagging. _Welcome indeed. All right, Wyatt. You got what you wanted – I'm in. The question now is – how do I get out?_

* * *

Chris rubbed at his bleary eyes, "Okay, so according to these maps there looks to be subterranean bodies of water here and here."

Darryl nodded, stabbing his finger at one of the markers on the paper. "This one is actually within our boundaries already. I've sent Slick and his team out to check it out. The problem is according to these maps none of the bodies of water are sustainable or large enough for our needs."

It was late – or early in the day, depending on how you wanted to look at things. The command central was close to dead silent. A minimal number of telepaths were on duty monitoring the graveyard shifts. Round the clock surveillance was key to the Resistance's survival – the rest of the world may be sleeping but not demons. Chris and Darryl had been locked within the small office in command central pouring over the contents of the maps that Chris had retrieved earlier in the evening. While their mission could be tentatively called a success, Zach's team mission to find and retrieve more water was a disappointment.

Zach and his team of scouts had returned from their water foraging efforts with little results. The fact of the matter was that bottled water was running low on supply. Not just within the Resistance's base but outside and upworld as well, demonstrated by their inability to discover any supplies in the now abandoned strip malls on the perimeter of the cityscape. After all – there weren't any manufacturing plants to produce or stores to distribute bottle water any more.

"What about this one?" Chris craned his neck to look at one of the maps on Darryl's side of the desk. "This looks like it's connected to some kind of underground river or stream. That would seem to suggest it's a sustainable water supply."

Darryl glanced over to see where Chris' finger was pointing at on the map to his left. "Yeah, I noticed that one earlier. The problem is that it's not within our boundaries. That's unprotected land – it's a demon free for all."

Coming around the desk to stand next to Darryl, Chris hunched over squinting at the tiny markings on the map, "I think I recognize this place. It's not that far from our boundaries."

Darryl shrugged. "Yeah. We held that piece in the far west end of the city for a couple of months. But we couldn't hold onto it without sustaining too many losses so we let it go. Plus – I seem to remember we decided it wasn't worth holding on to."

"More fool us," Chris said bitterly. "According to the map the body of water we need is located just outside the perimeter. If we had held onto that piece of land a little harder, we wouldn't be in our current water shortage predicament."

"We made a decision with the facts we had on hand at the time," Darryl replied evenly. "Not much more you can ask."

Sighing, Chris nodded, a little frustrated. "No, you're right. It was the right decision at the time. It's just easier to look back now with twenty-twenty hindsight…"

Frowning at the map, Darryl considered the map markings and the corresponding legend, "The water looks like it's located here, under this building. We control only up to the area here." Darryl's finger circled another notation on the map, "Doesn't look that bad on the map here – it's, oh, maybe 5 kilometres apart."

Peering intently at the map legend, Chris swore, "Now I remember why we gave up control of that building. Look," He pointed his finger between the two building notations on the map, "See the rings that circle around this area here? That indicates elevation. There's a huge ravine that separates the two buildings. Our underground network links to this building, which is why we've maintained our hold on it. But this other one, the old train station – the only way to get to the other side was a bridge that connected the two sides."

"So?" Darryl asked, still puzzled.

"So – during one of our skirmishes with the demons, the bridge was totally demolished. Burned down by a bunch of fireballs. There's no easy way to get across the ravine without that bridge," Chris pointed out. "And our no-orbing spell reaches just past that area, so we'd have to go there on foot if we go at all."

Darryl sighed. "Then I guess we keep on looking for another solution."

Chris shook his head vehemently, "No – this one's the closest. And like you said, it's large enough to sustain our needs. We need to take the train station back."

"But how? Without a bridge, anyone crossing the ravine to the other side on foot is a sitting duck. And say we _do_ get people across and we take control of the train station. That damn ravine makes it too difficult to maintain a supply chain which any team stationed there is going to need if we're to hold it in the long term."

"So then we rebuild the bridge."

"Excuse me?" Darryl lifted his eyebrows in question. He asked skeptically, "We're going to _build_ a bridge?"

"You said it yourself. We need to not only get control but maintain our hold over the train station once we _do_ get it. The only way for us to continue to hold it is to have an accessible supply route. And that means we need a bridge." Chris snapped his fingers excitedly, "Hey – we found kids who went to Berkley right? There's got to be some students amongst the innocents who were studying engineering, right? Hell – there's got to be some adults who were engineers! We just need to find them, put together a team and a plan and we're off to the races!"

Darryl nodded slowly, churning the possibility over in his mind. As the ideas began to form, he mused out loud, "We could work under the cover of darkness. Put together a bunch of work parties so they work in shifts through the night. Have a team of scouts with them at all times to keep lookout over the construction site."

Chris scowled at the map, "Take this to the Council, will you? Get their support and then setup a team leader to start canvassing our population for engineers. Make it our number one priority. I want us to get this underway before we're faced with a water crisis."

"We'd need to get it up quick though. Before the demons catch wind of what we're doing and destroy the bridge before we have a chance to gain control of the train station. We'd be at square one again." Darryl cautioned.

"I think it's a chance we'll have to take."

"Agreed," Darryl glanced at the clock on the wall. "Good God. It's practically morning. I've got exactly four hours before the next council meeting."

Chris grinned mockingly, "Guess you better try and catch some sleep before you go, eh?"

Darryl narrowed his eyes at his friend, saying sourly, "I take it you're not joining us again?"

"You do such a good job without me," Chris said innocently. Massaging his neck wearily with his left hand, "Besides, I still have those blasted scout reports I didn't get to finish the other day. Damn – there just aren't enough hours in the day anymore."

Heaving a sigh, Darryl rolled up the maps tucking them into the desk drawer and locking them away. "I agree. Come on. Let's both try to catch a couple of winks before we pass out." Gesturing to Chris to precede him, the two friends left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

* * *

Unable to sleep, Bianca stared at the ceiling as the thoughts raced through her head.

_Let's see…I've met the leader of the Resistance. Too bad I was too banged up to get a good look at him_, Bianca thought ruefully. _Otherwise half of my work would have been done. I'll have to find another way to come across him again. Once I get an id, I can start trailing him. Find out what his routine is, see if there's a pattern…a weakness… _

Unbidden, something he had said earlier to her floated to the top of her mind.

_What had he called her?_

"_Sure you don't, princess."_

She studied the dots on the ceiling. Who could have guessed that the person who would 'rescue' her would be her target?

_I just saved your life. I think it's pretty clear that I'm not here to hurt you._

A twinge of regret tickled her conscience. _He saved your life_, a little voice in her head said. _He also murdered my mother_, Bianca argued back. _He deserves to die_, she thought savagely.

She remembered how quickly he had diverted that woman in the infirmary – as if he had sensed how she was uncomfortable with providing her last name and wanting to alleviate her stress.

_"Look," he had said to that irritating receptionist, "why don't you finish that after the whitelighter gets a look at her, okay?"_

She scowled. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes focusing her mind and clearing it of distractions, trying to meditate.

_If you don't start talking with him, he'll start talking just to hear himself speak… _

She felt her lips curl in a slight semblance of a smile as the poor jest came to mind.

_What the hell? _

Frustrated by her total lack of concentration, she swung her legs onto the floor. Sitting up on the bed, her eyes ran over the tiny room. Beginning to feel a bit claustrophobic, Bianca headed towards the door. _I just need to clear my head. Clear my head and get focused. And then everything will be like it was before…_

Yanking the door open, she looked up and down the hall searching for movement. Finding none due to the early morning hour, she slipped out the door. Padding softly, she started to double her way back as best she could, this time keeping close attention to the twists and turns she was taking so that she would be able to return to her room later.

The base was huge and on initial impression, Bianca was sure that it covered several hundred square miles. Sighing, she knew it would take days, if not weeks, for her to get a full understanding of the intricacies of the base before she could even gather enough useful information to bring back to Wyatt. As she moved through the halls, she passed a number of people who nodded a friendly greeting at her – completely unsuspicious. It was, she mused, the exact opposite of the demon behaviour exhibited in Wyatt's stronghold.

At the double doors, she vaguely recalled Les telling her that it housed the mess hall. Figuring that it would be empty at this hour, Bianca pushed the left door open and entered the cafeteria. Clearly the mess hall was closed. Only one third of the ceiling lights were on – an obvious sign that electricity was being conserved. Her heels clicked loudly, echoing off the walls, as she breathed a tad bit easier in the large, empty room. Filled with communal tables and chairs, she selected one of the tables half covered in shadows. Seating herself down, Bianca made sure to select a chair so that she faced the door.

Settling down, she closed her eyes and tried to meditate again. Breathing deeply, she made a conscious effort to slow her breathing and began to clear her mind.

* * *

Waving goodnight (or was it good morning?) to Darryl, Chris continued to meander down the hall. Coming to a junction in the hallway, he decided to head left instead of taking the right turn to his quarters.

After all – it wasn't as if someone was waiting for him there.

As bone tired as he was, Chris knew he had better grab something to eat. He had missed dinner and knew that even though he didn't _feel_ hungry, he should still eat. Walking into the kitchens, he made his way over to the one refrigerator Lorelai kept unlock for occasions such as these. It wasn't that they thought people would try to steal from the kitchens (although when on rations and hungry, there was no telling what some people would sink to), the refrigerators were locked for safety reasons. These fridges were commercial fridges after all – the sizes of small rooms. It would be all too easy for someone to be accidentally locked inside.

Simple foods like bread, smoked meat and other items that did not spoil readily were kept in the fridge he was rummaging through now. Grabbing a couple of slices of bread and some of the smoked meat, Chris closed the fridge door and made himself a sandwich. Looking around, the kitchen was bare of any furniture. Exhausted and realizing he couldn't stand for a second longer, he exited through a connecting door into the mess hall.

Sitting down at one of the tables, Chris opened his mouth to take a bite of his sandwich. He munched silently, barely tasting the food as he chewed and swallowed automatically.

There was a noise – like someone breathing.

He paused, his whole body tensing.

His eyes scanning the room, he narrowed in on the shadows in the far back corner.

A young woman with long brown hair, her eyes closed, appeared to be asleep in the mess hall. Drawn in spite of himself, Chris picked up his sandwich and shuffled over to the woman. He hesitated, wondering how to get her attention without intruding. "Uh – I thought I was the only one who had insomnia."

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice, a deep chocolate brown, "Who says I have insomnia?"

Chris smiled, "The fact that you and I are the only ones in this mess hall while everyone else is tucked away sleeping, for one." He pointed at the seat across from her, "May I join you?"

Bianca eyed his sandwich and her stomach growled. When had been the last time she had eaten? "Only if you split your sandwich with me."

"Deal," Chris grinned, proffering her half. Chris eyed the girl across from him from beneath his eyelashes. Something in the way she held herself seemed to make him think that he should know her. Although leader of the Resistance, there was no way that he could know every person that was housed in the base. He knew every scout given that he dealt with them on a daily basis but he was not so fortunate with the other individuals who counted on him for their safety. He tried, as best he could, to get to know as many of the innocents that lived there. Suddenly, it clicked. "Your voice sounds familiar….you! You're the young woman I brought in tonight!"

Bianca blinked. How could she not have recognized her rescuer's voice? Finding her own voice, she cleared it, "Yes…ah, yes, I am."

"You're looking much better," Chris observed. "You're much prettier without blood running all over your face." Encouraged by the slight smile he received at his jest, Chris took another bite out of his sandwich. Swallowing, "So did Les help you settle in?"

Crossing her legs beneath the table, she shifted her limbs so that the dagger hidden in her boot was within reach. _I can't. I shouldn't. I haven't learned enough about the base yet…but…will I ever get another opportunity like this one?_

It was the markings of a good assassin who knew when the gods of fate were handing her a sign – in this case, her target on a silver platter. They were alone, he was unsuspecting and chances were she would have plenty of time to get away before anyone discovered the body. It was still early yet and she guessed that it would be at least an hour before the kitchen staff would arrive to start cooking for the first meal.

Her fingers brushed the top of her boot. _Just a little lower…_

"Yes," she replied, carrying on the conversation. "Yes, he did. Thank you."

"Good," Chris smiled a warm smile. "I'm glad."

A colder woman than she would be able to ignore the effects of that smile. An assassin less professional than she would be affected. Curling her fingers around the hilt of her dagger, she began to slowly draw the dagger from her boot. _Just one well placed hit. Straight through the heart. Quick, clean…efficient_, she thought.

The doors of the mess hall burst open.

"Chris!"

Bianca swiftly slid the dagger safely back into her boot as a woman with a group of kids suddenly entered the mess hall.

Swiveling in his seat and completely unaware of the danger he had just been in, Chris asked in surprise, "Sheila! What are you guys doing here? And at this ungodly hour?

"Hi Chris!

"Hello!"

The chorus of young voices greeted his ears. Sheila smiled indulgently at her class, "We promised Lorelai that we would help her out by cleaning the mess hall today. Scrubbing floors and wiping down the tables. Three of her regular staff have been off sick for some days now." Pointing her finger at a door on the opposite end of the mess hall, she directed her students, "Okay class. The cleaning supplies are kept in that cabinet over there. Go get set up and then I'll come over to help."

The students all groaned but ambled off good-naturedly, dragging their feet. Shaking her head at their antics, she turned her attention back to the couple sitting at the table in front of her, extending her hand to the young woman, "I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Chris nodded at Bianca. "Sheila – this is Bianca. She just arrived here today. Bianca – this is my very good friend Sheila. Sheila's in charge of running our classes for the kids housed in the base."

Meeting the older woman's hand, Bianca gave it a firm shake, "Pleased to meet you."

Openly curious, Sheila asked, "How do you two know each other?"

Before Bianca could reply, Chris interrupted, "We rescued her today from some demons while we were on that scouting mission."

"I see," Sheila glanced back over her shoulder at the kids. "Well, don't let me disturb you two. I need to help the kids get started. Oh – and Chris?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're eating," Sheila admonished. "You're far too skinny as it is."

Blushing at Sheila's motherly tone, Chris sneaked a glance at Bianca's face. Her face was full of mirth at Chris' plight. Rolling his eyes, he responded wearily, "Yes, Sheila."

"And make sure you eat your vegetables," Sheila teased, noticing the discomfort on his face.

"Sheila!" Chris exclaimed, exasperated.

"What?" Sheila asked innocently, batting her eyelashes in an obvious manner at him.

"I think I heard one of the kids calling for you," Chris growled, mock-threateningly.

"I didn't hear anything," Sheila smiled crookedly, before taking pity on Chris. "All right, all right. I'm going."

Turning his attention back to the young woman in front of him, Chris pretended to plead, "I don't suppose there's any way that you could pretend that never happened."

Laughing, Bianca had to smile at the good-natured scolding that she had just observed, "I think it's kind of cute."

Chris groaned. "Cute? Please tell me I haven't been regulated to the 'cute' category."

Bianca grinned. "What's wrong with being cute?"

Chris threw her a withering look, "Puppies are cute. Little kids are cute. _Teddy bears_ are _cute._ Trust me…no self-respecting guy wants to be known as 'cute'."

"Well, _I_ happen to like cute," Bianca said a little seductively, her tone a touch suggestive. Amused, she watched Chris' cheeks redden slightly as he tried to stammer a response. Rising gracefully from her chair, she leaned across the table to give Chris a peck on the cheek, "I think I'll turn in. Thanks for the sandwich."

Straightening, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and proceeded to leave the mess hall. "See you."

Bemused, Chris cleared his throat and half-heartedly raised his hand to awkwardly wave goodbye to Bianca whose back was already turned, barely croaking out, "See you…"

The swoosh of the door closing behind her was the only acknowledgement he received. He stared at his right hand as if seeing it for the first time, still poised in the air before clenching his fingers in a fist, muttering to himself, "I am, without a doubt, an idiot."

* * *

"She seems nice," Sheila said casually, leaning against the back of the chair as she sat down next to him, both eyes still focused on her students who were cleaning the table tops around the room. The children were about two-thirds of the way through and doing a devil of a good job too.

Chris glanced over at his close friend, who was innocently studying her fingernails, "Please, please, please don't tell me you're trying to be a matchmaker."

"Well," Sheila turned to face Chris, a wicked glint in her eye. "If you're going to bring it up…."

"Oh God," Chris groaned, covering his face with both hands.

"Now, now," Sheila patted him on the shoulder encouragingly. "I think she's interested, if I can read body language accurately."

"I don't have time for a relationship, Sheila. I have this small thing called the Resistance that I'm the leader of that takes up all my time. Heard of it?" Chris replied tiredly.

Contrary to Sheila's beliefs, Chris was conscious of his efforts from staying away from amorous entanglements. Being the leader of the Resistance, however reluctantly, came with a price. The Resistance came first and anyone who was involved with him would likely come a poor second. _Better to not get involved at all_, was Chris' way of thinking. He barely had enough time to sleep, let alone time to devote to a proper relationship. It made for a good excuse, at any rate.

"Chris – granted one half of you is technically angelic, but not even you can live like a monk. Don't think I'm not aware that you haven't had a relationship since this war started," Sheila replied matter of fact.

"Sheila!" Chris' mouth hung open, his cheeks reddening slightly, taken aback by his friend's forthrightness. "I am NOT talking to you about my love life!"

"You have to have a love life before we can talk about it," Sheila retorted, amused at Chris' bashfulness on the topic.

Grumbling slightly, Chris replied defensively, "How would you know anyways?"

Sheila shrugged. "People talk, Chris. And people _especially_ like to talk about the leader of the Resistance."

"I don't believe this," Chris groaned again, burying his face in his hands as he shook his head back and forth in disbelief. "This is even worse than when I was in high school!"

"I don't want you to end up alone," Sheila explained gently.

"I'm not alone. I've got you and Darryl, the kids – we're a family," Chris pointed out.

"And we'll always be your family. Darryl and I – we will always be here for you. You know that. But take it from someone who knows…it's not the same thing," Sheila advised. "Chris – if there's one thing I've learned in the past year it's that life is hard. And your life? With all your responsibilities? Probably even more so." She paused significantly before continuing, "Sharing it with someone will make your burden a bit easier to bear. Honey – I worry about you. Don't think I haven't noticed how you've changed during this year. You went from being an eager kid looking forward to starting college to being responsible for the lives of thousands. I look at you and I can see how you keep everything bottled up inside."

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do," Sheila admonished him. "And more than that, I can see you keeping everyone at arm's length. Do you think I haven't noticed? Oh, you can still charm the pants off of everyone in the vicinity and everyone thinks you're this self-possessed leader but don't forget – I _know_ you. I've known you since you were a baby. I know how awkward and uncertain you feel inside. I've watched you when you're in the presence of a large crowd, hanging back slightly like you don't know if you'll be welcomed. I've watched you project this confident, strong exterior to the world at large but you never let people see the _real_ you. The you that Darryl and I get to see."

Chris silently acknowledged the truth in Sheila's words, drawing patterns on the ground with his right sneaker. He _did_ keep people at a distance. Oh – he suffered from the same flares of temper and fits of self-doubt that any person did. But who would follow someone who was indecisive, fearful or weak? The exterior he projected was one out of necessity, one that the Resistance and the innocents they protected needed from him. Only Sheila and Darryl ever witnessed the bouts of self-pity, resentment and frustration he kept tightly under control. And even then – Chris was careful not to reveal too much of himself.

Chris continued to study the ground under his feet, saying, by way of excuse, "Mom would want me to be strong."

Placing her fingers gently under his chin, Sheila tilted Chris' head toward her so their eyes met, "Your mother would want you to be happy."

"How can any of us be happy under the circumstances? Are _you_ happy?" Chris countered.

"No. But there are moments every day where – just briefly – I forget everything around me and I am," Sheila smiled wistfully. "When Darryl happens to tilt his head in a certain way…when the kids bicker amongst themselves…And then I can get through another day."

Chris looked away, his eyes fixed on some unseen object in the distance, "I don't think I can remember the last time I felt that way – I'm not sure I ever will."

"And that's why I worry about you. I want you to find that again. That happiness. Even if it's just for a moment," Sheila wrapped her arm around Chris in a loose hug. "I'm not saying that you need to go out and start grabbing at it. I just want you to leave yourself open to the idea. Let love into your heart and into your life again, sweetheart. I promise you that you'll be better off for it."

Hearing the truth in her advice, Chris was at a lost on what to say. Covering his troubles, he chose to maneuver the topic onto safer ground by making light of it. Snorting softly, Chris nodded, "Yes, aunt Sheila."

Recognizing his ploy for what it was, Sheila let it go. She had said her piece and given him some food for thought. It was all that she could do for now. Hooking her arm in his, Sheila rose from her seat, dragging Chris with her. "Good. Now come on. Let's get these kids back to their parents."

To be continued….

* * *

A/N: Hope everyone is enjoying the story so far. Like 'No Fate' – I'm starting to get that suspicious feeling in my gut that this is going to be a long one. I'mhoping you'll stick with me.**_A tiny (very, very tiny!) peek into the next chapter to make sure you hang around… _**

Where there had only been silence and darkness, now there were pulses of light, reverberating explosions, outcries from the wounded and smoke so thick she choked. Pieces of wood rained down on them and she could hear the screams from above as the sudden attack took the engineers by surprise.

_Ambush!_

She never saw it coming.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Word of warning – there is a character death in this chapter. Anyone who's read 'No Fate' should know it's no surprise as to who is that character. There wasn't any good place to cut it off earlier so it's a bit longer than my usual chapters.

**Thanks go to: **Shadow Dark Night, misslyn, cold-blooded angel, Charmed Ravenclaw, IcantthinkofaFnick, Fanastygirl721, Flephanie, Sparkling Cherries, Chattypandagurl, As Always

It's you guys that gave me the extra boost of energy to get another chappie up in under a week!

**Providence **

**Chapter 6**

_Today was so cold. I can't remember the last time I saw the sun. Buried deep in the earth, housed in these huge, sterile steel structures – there is no warmth here. I miss the sun. I miss feeling the warm comfort I got when I felt the sun's rays upon my face. Will I or any of us ever get to experience that feeling again?_

– from the memoirs of Leslie St. Claire

* * *

She replayed their conversation in her mind…

"_What's wrong with being cute?" she had asked._

"_Puppies are cute. Little kids are cute. _Teddy bears_ are _cute_. Trust me…no self-respecting guy wants to be known as 'cute'."_

She felt her lips unconsciously curl upwards. He had seemed so…charming.

_"Well, I happen to like cute," she had replied._

She'd watched as the younger man had blushed and stammered – obviously not as adept at the flirting game as she. There had been something…innocent in that awkwardness that he'd displayed when he suddenly seemed to realize she had been flirting with him. Something…genuine.

She'd given him a peck on the cheek.

_Why? _

Incessant knocking on the door finally dragged Bianca out of her deep thoughts. She made sure that her dagger and wrist sheaths were still out of sight hidden in the dresser drawer where she'd placed them last night before falling asleep before she yanked the door of her room open.

"Morning! Can I interest you in some coffee?" Leslie asked cheerfully, holding out a steaming mug of the dark brew. "Careful…it's hot," he warned as Bianca reached out with both hands wrapping around the warm cup.

Closing her eyes in bliss, Bianca slowly sipped the hot liquid, savouring the warmth as it slid down her throat and began to permeate through the rest of her body. Opening one eye, she found Les grinning at her with open amusement. "I was cold."

Les' grin faded slightly, "Yeah, sorry about that. We don't have enough electricity to keep the complex heated. We do our best – some of the common areas like the mess hall and such – but we really don't have the energy to spare. That's why your room is so cold."

Bianca shrugged nonchalantly, "I've had worse."

"Oh?" Leslie shaded his tone as a question.

"My uncle was a recluse. There weren't a lot of…amenities…where I'm from," Bianca explained. Changing the topic to safer ground she asked, "I assume there's a reason you came banging on my door at this early morning hour?"

Not wanting to pry, Leslie nodded in response to Bianca's question, "Yep. I'm going to get you set up on supplies. Your tour will have to wait…I don't have any one I can spare right now."

"That's fine. Should we get going then?" Bianca replied smoothly.

Leading the way through the halls, Les threw Bianca a sidelong glance, "We'll pay a visit to housekeeping first. Get you some sheets, blankets and towels."

By this time they had entered a huge concourse which Bianca vaguely remembered hurrying past the previous day. Bianca blinked in surprise as she recognized the name of a well-known department store chain on the sign overhead. His grin full of mischief, "Yeah. One of the nice things about being located in an underground shopping mall – we've got access to some pretty neat supplies. You want 300 count Egyptian cotton? No problem. Come on – housekeeping is set up in the home furnishings department of the store."

They climbed the now still escalator located to their right and entered the department store. Looking all around, Bianca stared at the sight in front of her. Most of the shelves were half empty. Those with supplies were clearly labelled with signs taped to the front of the aisles. Moving swiftly, Les guided Bianca to the back of the store. There, a matronly woman who looked to be at least in her sixties was directing several dozens of individuals.

"Jack – I need you to take that to section five," the woman was saying as she checked something off her clipboard. Pointing at another woman, she directed, "Can you and your team double count the perishables in aisle seven? I need to know the exact numbers so I can put together our requisition for tonight's supply run."

Approaching from behind, Les gently placed a hand on the shoulder of the woman in charge, "Hey, Elise."

Elise turned, giving Les a huge smile filled with warmth, "Hey there, you rascal! How have you been? I haven't seen you around lately."

Les smiled back, "I've been swamped. Otherwise you know I would have stopped by to see you."

"Chris keeping you on your toes, eh?" Elise smiled cheekily.

"That guy does not understand the term 'free' time," Les pretended to groan. Motioning Bianca to come closer, he introduced her to Elise, "Anyways, I've brought someone for you to meet. She's new – just got in last night. We're going to need to set her up with some supplies."

Elise smiled at the newcomer, "How are you, dear? Did you bring anything with you?"

Bianca shook her head, "Just the clothes on my back, I'm afraid."

Elise frowned, "Well – we'll get you set up good and proper, don't you worry." Ambling over to a nearby door, which led to one of the stock rooms. She opened it and gestured for the other two to follow her. Inside the metallic shelves were lined with linens. Elise tossed a pillow at them, which hit an unsuspecting Les squarely in the face before he caught it with his hands. "Elise!" Les protested.

"Oh hush," Elise scolded Les good-naturedly. Grabbing a cloth bag she began to stuff it with assorted linens and towels, the entire time lecturing Bianca over her shoulder, "You'll be responsible for changing and washing your own sheets. The laundry facilities are kept on sub-level six. You'll have to check the schedule for your time allotment – we do it based on room numbers. We can't have everyone doing their laundry at the same time, you know. Energy issues." Pausing for breath, she looked at the young woman whose arms were filled with linens, "You're not one of the scouts, are you?"

Leslie shook his head, answering for her, "Nope. Not yet at any rate."

Handing the now half-full lumpy bag to Bianca, Elise shoved the other linens in Bianca's arms into the bag, squashing them down. "Well, if you do become one of the scouts, let me know. We'll work out a new schedule." Seeing Bianca's puzzled look, Elise explained, "My team takes care of all the scouts – their laundry, changing their sheets…general housekeeping duties. If you're not a scout than you help out in other ways."

"Thank God. Otherwise I'd probably be wearing rumpled clothing right now," Les admitted sheepishly.

"You and every other scout on base," Elise smiled in sympathy. "And Les is right – there _is_ no such thing as free time. Once Les gets you settled in and if you decide not to join the scouts, there are plenty of other opportunities to help out."

"Elise – she hasn't even been here for twenty four hours!" Les chuckled. "Let's give her a chance to catch her breath before we start frightening her with all the stuff that needs to get done!"

Elise chuckled as well. "You're right. I'm sorry, dear. It's just – I guess I'm use to running things like a tight ship. Something to do with my former occupation, I guess."

Bianca smiled her thanks at the older woman, "I understand. And…I'll make sure to come to you if I do decide that…my skills are better put to use here."

"All right – off with the two of you! I need to get back to work," Elise shooed the two out of the stock room. "Les – you tell Chris I said 'hi' now. I can't remember the last time I saw that boy. You tell him he better make some time to see his old friend Elise."

"Will do. And Elise?" Les said over his shoulder as he and Bianca took their leave. "Thanks."

Giving them a short wave, Elise ambled off again, "Your welcome! And don't be a stranger, dear. We're all family here."

Chuckling to himself, Les eyed Bianca, "I think you're all set for the next fifty years or so…Here, you better let me take that."

Leslie handed over the pillow and took the lumpy bag of linens from Bianca. In doing so, he accidentally brushed against her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her sweater. He noticed a flash of black under her sleeve. "Is that a tattoo?"

Bianca quickly pulled her sleeve back down over the offending mark before Les could get a better look. Seeing his questioning look, she replied, "A little something from my wild days at college, I'm afraid." She laughed weakly, hoping that he would let it go.

Satisfied with the reply, Les' thoughts moved onto more important topic, "So have you given any further thought to joining the scouts? I don't want to pressure you…"

"Really?" Bianca asked, sceptically.

"Okay, maybe a little," Leslie had the grace to blush. "It's just…we need every hand we can get and you happen to be a witch…"

"Relax," Bianca replied, calmly. She had come to the decision last night after meeting Chris in the mess hall. What little information she had gathered from their encounter told her that his schedule was erratic, to say the least. She had concluded that the quickest and easiest way to gain access to Chris' schedule, or Chris himself, would likely be facilitated by joining the scouts. "I've already decided. Count me in."

"Great!" Leslie looked relieved. "We'll get you integrated as soon as possible. There are a couple of courses you'll need to take first and then I can assign you someone to shadow. Once you've got the hang of it we'll assign you to a permanent team."

Back at Bianca's room again, Les waited for her to open the door. He carelessly tossed the bag onto her bed, watching as she carefully placed the pillow down and turned to empty the bag of linens onto the bed. "I'll send one of the girls by to get you hooked up with new clothes as it's not really my department."

Bianca paused in her tidying, turning to nod solemnly at Les, "Sounds good. Thanks."

Leslie nodded back, slowly backing out the door, "And Bianca? If you need anything…don't hesitate to ask. Like Elise said, we're family. Okay? "

"Okay," Bianca replied, her concentration on the items on the bed in front of her.

Knowing he was being dismissed, Leslie left, closing the door gently behind him.

Staring at the linens on the bed, she took another set of towels and yanked open the second drawer of her dresser. The harsh light of the ceiling light glinted off the metal of her knives, winking up at her.

She looked at them for a long time, mesmerized.

Carefully, she placed her new towels over them and shut the drawer close, recalling the friendliness of Elise.

_We're all family here._

* * *

A barrage of fireballs had partially destroyed the bridge in one of their earlier skirmishes with the demons, forcing the Resistance forces to abandon it long ago. On the plus side, once the bridge had been destroyed, the demons had not tried to increase their ground. Instead, flush with success from their accomplishment, the demons had pretty much vacated the area. Located in the far west end of the city, the bridge was located just above ground, connecting an underground shopping complex with a former train station. The underground shopping complex was still under the Resistance's control, while the train station had become 'neutral' ground when the bridge had given out. The bridge, once repaired, would finally give them the coveted access to the underground water source that they so desperately needed.

For the second moonless night in a row, Chris had led a repair and revetting party to the site, working at frantic speed to repair the bridge. Mostly made up of engineers and engineering students who had been attending the local colleges before all hell had broken loose, the majority of the individuals were innocents. A scout contingent, under the careful watch of Zach and Les, had stationed themselves off to the side on a restored section of the bridge to keep watch.

Not that much was visible. The darkness was so thick Chris could barely discern anything less than two feet in front of him. Occasionally, a match flared, or a person spoke, interrupting the blanket of darkness. Holding a small flashlight in his mouth, he aimed the weak beam at his lap, barely making out his own hands as they positioned the nail and wooden beam into place. Although he couldn't help with the design or architect of the bridge, he could lift a hand. It was almost therapeutic – the hard, manual labour. He squinted, hoped for the best, and brought the hammer down hard that in the permeating darkness he would hit the nail and not his hand.

The quiet was deceptive - it almost felt like no one else existed in the vicinity. It gave him a chance to reflect on his thoughts.

"Chris?" A voice broke his thoughts.

Blinking in surprise, Chris turned towards the voice, squinting as the beam from a flashlight temporarily blinded him, grabbing his own from his mouth so he could speak, "Hey, what are you doing here?"

Sheila lowered her flashlight, pointing it slightly to her left so that they could both make each other out in the peripheral light. "I'm on a supply run. We were up north earlier but it was dry. We thought we'd try our luck out here before giving up and going home. And given that the demons have been fairly inactive lately, Darryl thought I could use a chance to stretch my legs."

Chris grinned, "He's just being overprotective, you know."

Sheila rolled her eyes, "I love that man, but honestly...you'd think I was some sort of child. I can handle myself perfectly well. And I want to do my part too. I want to contribute."

"I know that," Chris agreed with a smile. "And so does Darryl. Give him some time to get use to the idea, Sheila. It was hard enough for him to accept the kids wanted to be involved in the action."

"I know," Sheila sighed. "Believe me, I can understand where he's coming from. I didn't want the kids to be part of this at all but I understood they needed to contribute back. And that's what I need too. It's why I didn't protest when they told me they were joining the Resistance, powers or no powers."

Chris nodded. "I wish we didn't need to call on innocents to help us but we need every person we can get."

"I know you guys do. Anyways, we'd better get going if we're going to make it back to base within the next couple of hours. If I'm not home by then Darryl will never let me out again," Sheila joked. "When do you think you'll have the bridge completed?"

Chris shrugged, "Barring no unforeseen circumstances, we should have the construction completed within the next two days. And maybe another two days to secure the area on the other side."

"Sounds good." Sheila reached over to squeeze Chris' shoulder lightly, "I'll see you back at base?"

Chris nodded.

Waving, Sheila turned and left, quickly falling into the lead with her team of eight. Chris recognized four of them as scouts and the others as innocents. The war with Wyatt had made it hard for them to have 'innocents' at all - they were all pretty much soldiers in this war with evil. He watched as Sheila and her team climbed out of the trenches that surrounded the complex and circle around, heading towards the train station. It would take them at least half an hour on foot to get there - once the bridge was completed, it would take them less than five minutes to gain direct access.

Turning back to the task at hand, Chris focused on the hammer once again, using his telekinesis to move the two by four into place. He was working a bit further out then the rest of the team, using his telekinesis to move the heavy wooden beams into place. Once he hammered in the main support beams, the others would follow in his wake, banging the rest of the materials into place. It made for quick work, but it also meant that Chris was a good ways away from the rest of the group.

From his vantage point, he could see Sheila's team crawl down into the reservoir that separated the two buildings. Climbing back up onto the other side would require some finesse. He had no doubt that Sheila had this all under control.

The reservoir was probably twenty feet deep by fifty feet wide. Dried grass poked up between the stones and dirt - the huge ditch pretty much void of any life, plant or otherwise. Chris spared one last glance at his friend, before turning his attention back to the two by four hovering in the air to his right.

And then, all hell broke loose.

* * *

Where there had only been silence and darkness, now there were pulses of light, reverberating explosions, outcries from the wounded and smoke so thick she choked. Pieces of wood rained down on them and she could hear the screams from above as the sudden attack took the engineers by surprise.

_Ambush!_

She never saw it coming.

Her last thought was for her family…_Oh, Darryl…_

* * *

"Incoming!" a voice shouted.

That was the only warning they got.

Seconds later, a scarlet flare burst in the sky, letting out a distinct whine as the fireballs fell to the ground, creating huge craters were they fell. Les covered the back of his head with both arms. The crew of engineers scrambled off the half repaired bridge, running for the trenches. Chris yelled a superfluous command for the team to hit the ground. Most were already down when Les landed on his chest, seconds before the array of fireballs made impact on the half restored bridge behind them.

From his position on the bridge, Chris ignored his precarious position and frantically searched the reservoir below for Sheila and the supply team. He scrambled to get down, yelling a warning, "Sheila! Get down! Get-"

A barrage of fireballs exploded into the reservoir below, hurled from the other side of the giant ditch.

_Shit!_

Thrown forward, Chris landed face down onto the hard ground. He struggled to raise his head, his eyes searching frantically through the smoke. Below, smoke was mushrooming upwards in a roiling cloud and clumps of dirt rained down all around.

_Where was Sheila?_

A voice sounded in the distance, "Chris! Sheila's team is down!"

Wasting no time, Chris scrambled up as other fireballs could be heard sounding off in the distance. "I'm going to get her."

Suddenly appearing by his side, Les latched onto Chris' arm, trying to pull his friend back towards the trenches, "But it isn't safe with the bombardment. Hold on a sec."

"The hell with what's safe. Sheila's hurt." He shook his friend off. Crouched over, Chris began to run along the edge of the reservoir, shouting over his shoulder, "Get everyone back into the trenches and take cover!"

He half slid, half fell, hastily descending into the reservoir. Gravity worked with him, pulling him down faster than he would have liked for safety reasons. He prayed that he wouldn't trip and end up tumbling down the some twenty odd feet to the bottom of the blasted pit and breaking his fool neck.

As he skidded to the bottom, he quickly scanned the area. Sheila's team was in tatters. Bodies lay unmoving to his left and right. Swallowing his fear, he pressed on, the smoke so thick he could barely breath. Reaching down, he gently turned over one of the bodies closest to him. The body – a young man about Chris' age – looked up at him, blue eyes unblinking. The fatal fireball had struck the middle of the young man's back, ending his life instantly. Hands trembling, Chris let go, letting the body fall back into its face down position.

Another fireball landed six feet behind him, hurling wood and clods of dirt in all direction, some of it pelting him in the back. Dropping on all fours, he peered through the thick smoke, desperation making him yell, "Sheila! Sheila! Where are you?" His voice caused some demon on the other side to aim for the sound and Chris rolled to his left, narrowly missed being targeted by the fireball.

"Chris-"

The thin, reedy voice came from up ahead, just to his left. Hope sprung to his throat, almost choking him with relief. Still crawling, Chris inched his way towards the voice, past the other members of Sheila's team – all dead. He began to dread what he would find. Dry-mouthed with fear, he swallowed hard. In his head, he could hear Les asking him telepathically:_Is she all right?_:

She was lying in a ditch, her back twisted in an unnatural position. Her right arm was bent crookedly over her head while her left lay limply by her side. All around them fireballs were still being hurled, creating geysers of dirt strewn upwards upon impact as the ground shook beneath the onslaught. Her upper body was half covered with dirt and wooden debris covered the lower half of her body. Sobbing, Chris pushed himself next to Sheila, reaching out to brush the dirt gently from her face. "Sheila?"

Her voice was so weak, "Chris...tell Darryl...tell the kids..."

"No! No! Everything's going to be okay, Sheila. I'm going to get you out of here." Tears streamed down his face as he tried to manoeuvre himself behind her. Wrapping his arms around her upper body, he tried not to think about her back, which was obviously broken. He knew moving her would only cause irreparable damage but there was no alternative. "Just hang on, damn it! Don't go, don't give up. You can't! Darryl needs you. The kids need you."

With enormous effort, she lifted her head to stare into Chris' green eyes, "Tell..them...I lov-" And with that last effort, her head fell forward onto her chest.

:_Chris,_: Les' thoughts were in his head. :_Is Sheila okay?_:

Chris' entire body began to shake. He wanted to deny the evidence to his senses, to close his eyes against the sight of his good friend lifeless. But he couldn't. Burying his face in her hair, he sobbed, "Oh god. Oh god. Please don't go. Please don't go. Oh god..."

:_Chris! We have to book! We can't hold them off! We've got to get out of here!_: Les' thoughts were staccato-like in his panic:_Get Sheila and move!_:

He shook her slightly…uselessly, "Come on, Sheila! Don't do this! Don't go! Hang on! Please, no...please...oh god..."

:_Chris!_: Les' voice reverberated in his head, the frantic tone coming through clearly. :_Chris - we gotta go!_:

He couldn't deny it any more.

She was gone.

Pulling himself together, Chris released his breath, shuddering. Reaching down, he grabbed her left hand, pulling off her wedding ring. He gently closed Sheila's eyes, pressing a soft kiss on her forehead. Wiping his eyes, he began to crawl back towards the others. He glanced one final time over his shoulder at her before turning away. There was no way he could drag Sheila's body back across the line with him, no matter how much he wanted to. Explosions thundered all around him as he slowly crawled on his belly back towards the wall of the reservoir. He began to run up the steep climb, counting on the thick smoke and his prayers to get him to the top of the reservoir safely.

As soon as he reached the edge of the reservoir at the top, he once again dropped to his belly, crawling towards the trenches. Finally, as he reached the line, he felt the strong grasp of his team members wrap their hands around his arms, pulling him into the trenches. He wiped away his tears with his sleeve, leaning his back against the trench wall, looking into the faces of his friends. In the background, he could still hear the thundering of the fireballs as they rained down, causing the ground beneath their feet to tremble and shake upon the impact.

About to ask where Sheila was, Les abruptly snapped his mouth close as he looked into Chris' eyes. Staring at Chris' tear streaked face, Les knew the answer to his question without a word spoken between them.

Chris closed his eyes, shaking his head. "She...oh god." He rubbed his face wearily, "What am I going to tell Darryl? What am I going to tell their kids?"

* * *

They couldn't afford to lose control of the complex. It was connected to the underground tunnels, and ultimately, to base camp. Emptying himself of all emotions knowing he would pay later for it, Chris pushed his grief to the back of his mind. Shaking himself slightly, he gathered himself. Looking into the eyes of the scouts and engineers surrounding him, he gave his orders crisply. He was relying on Les' telepathic abilities to send his request for reinforcements to Darryl at command central.

Straightening his shoulders, he began directing those with experience in armed conflict, whether they were scouts or engineers. He saw the fright in the eyes of the innocents who had little to no experience in armed conflict. There was no way he could reassure them. They had been taken by surprise and the scout contingent that had accompanied them had been the bare minimum.

As the scouts fanned out along the trenches, Chris positioned himself in the middle of the line. Peering over the ditch, he could see the other side clearly from the flames that angrily engulfed the partially rebuilt bridge. Grimacing at the depressing sight of all their hard work going up in flames, Chris wrenched his gaze away, scanning for their attackers. He could hear the sounds of battle in the air. The high pitched whine from the fireballs being hurled at them and the resulting thunder as they pounded into the ground creating craters in the soft dirt.

Using his telekinesis, he redirected as many fireballs back across to the other side, limited to line of sight. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. He hoped that they would not have to engage the enemy but it would depend on how long he could keep returning fire.

Chris' face twisted with the effort of using his telekinesis. There were too many and only one of him. He could feel a headache coming on rapidly; a clear indication that he was pushing himself beyond his limits.

Les shook his head, closing his eyes as he 'received' a message. "Darryl's mobilizing a team as we speak. We might actually get a break. Apparently there's a scout team in the vicinity performing some training…they'll get here in another twenty minutes. Can you hold them off that long?"

"Don't have a choice, do I?" Chris retorted harshly, the sweat now pouring down his face. He wiped his brow with his sleeve, waving with his hands left and right, returning fire.

Dirt rained down on them, pelting the Resistance fighters in the trenches as one of the fireballs escaped Chris' notice and pounded the earth nearby. Luckily, no one was hurt. The group sat huddled in the trenches, their bodies pressed up against the side of the trench as they waited nervously for reinforcements. Les could taste the fear in the air. They were outnumbered and 'outgunned'. If Chris collapsed before the reinforcements arrived, it was unlikely that they would be able to hold their own.

It was one of the things that had learned in this war with magic. Magic did not have an endless supply. Using their powers, casting spells…they took energy from the user. In the early days of the Resistance, more than one scout or witch had either incurred a severe headache or collapsed from excessive use of their magical abilities.

Les kept one eye on Chris and the other on the enemy lines. Unlike Chris' telekinesis, if Les wanted to use his powers to avert fireballs he had to drop into a light trance. Not an ideal state to be in the middle of a battlefield. Plus, he was a touch _slower_ than Chris with his telekinesis, another drawback of telepathy. Chances were if Les had to be the one to turn aside the fireballs, more than a few would have already broken through their defences. No – Chris was the best option right now. He could only pray that the kid could hold out long enough for help to arrive.

Chris' entire being was focused on the scene in front of them and keeping their team alive until help could arrive. But Les could easily see that the use of Chris' powers were beginning to take its toll. His face was gray, his eyes bleary. Most alarmingly, it appeared that Chris hadn't even noticed that he had bitten through his lower lip as blood welled from the self-inflicted wound.

On the other side of Chris, Zach opened his mouth to stop his friend from using his powers before he passed out. Signalling Zach with his eyes, Les shook his head. :_Chris is right – we don't stand a chance if he doesn't keep those demons from advancing before our reinforcements get here._:

:_Then one of us should help him! We're both telepaths – one of us could still keep in touch with communications while the other can use their abilities to redirect some fireballs._: Zach argued.

:_Don't you think I thought of that? But we need to reserve our powers in case Chris can't hold out until help comes. He's holding his own for now._: Les said evenly. As much as he hated seeing his friend under such pressure, Les knew it was the right move for all concerned. Seeing Zach's mutinous glare, Les replied wearily :_That's an order, soldier. Do I make myself clear?_:

:_Fine_: Zach's 'tone' was biting.

About to form a retort, Les abruptly snapped his mouth closed as Chris' voice broke in hoarsely, "Les – you're going to have to catch…"

"What is he talking about?" Zach asked, anxiously, as he observed the paper white pallor of Chris' face. "Les?"

Les knew what Chris was saying and asking, "You falter, I catch. I'm ready." Sparing a quick glance at Zach, Les ordered, "You're in charge of communications as of now." Girding himself, Les prepared to 'take over' from Chris. Zach fell silent as the implication of Les' order sank in. Chris was tiring and Les would have to take up the 'mantle' of returning fire.

* * *

He was breathing heavily, like he had just finished running a marathon. His limbs felt heavy and he could feel a pain in the back of his skull, pounding away in rhythm with the barrage of fireballs.

_I've got to stay focused. I've got to hold on_, Chris thought, desperately. _Help is coming. I've just got to hold on a little longer._

He bit his lip, tasting blood. The pain helped him focus that tiny bit longer.

In the background he could hear the frightened murmurs from the team…innocents mostly – they were unprepared for the grim reality of battle and warfare.

The pain in his head was so great, he blacked out temporarily, fighting to hold onto his consciousness. His hands were clutching the edge of the trench wall so tightly that his knuckles were white.

_Please…please, I just need to hold on a little longer. I promised that I would keep them safe. Please let me keep my promise._

But then he had already broken that promise, hadn't he? Unbidden, an image of Sheila floated to the surface of his mind. Her body broken, her eyes wide and unseeing, staring up at him.

_If I'm not home by then Darryl will never let me out again… _

_Oh god_…Chris wanted to weep in frustration. _Oh god…I'm sorry, Sheila. So goddamn sorry._

His ears were ringing now and he could feel the lethargy in his arms. It seemed like the barrage was coming faster and faster, but in reality he knew it was his reaction time slowing. It was unlikely that he would be able to hold on much longer and with help yet to arrive, it would fall to Les to step up to the plate, "Les – you're going to have to catch…"

The world spun as his knees trembled and gave out. _Crap! I overextended myself_, Chris thought with disgust.

And before he could hear Les' reply, he collapsed.

Zach could hear the startled gasps from the others as Chris collapsed to the ground. He could see Les dropping into a light trance as the telepath took Chris' place. Unfortunately, Les wasn't as quick as Chris and the fireballs began to explode in closer proximity. Seeing the fear in the eyes of the innocents, Zach yelled, "Everyone take cover! Stay low to the ground!" Gesturing with his hands, he directed his scout team to get ready as the engineers cowered on the floor of the trenches. If help didn't arrive soon, they would have to engage the enemy. And he didn't like the odds of that.

* * *

Les was already tiring quickly. He was breathing heavily and the barrage of fire continued to rain down in greater intensity. Gritting his teeth, Zach opened his mouth to tell his scouts that it looked like they would have to fight, when he felt a _tickle_ in the back of his mind.

"Holy bloody Mary mother of god," Zach shouted aloud. A couple of his scouts threw him a questioning look. "We're saved! Reinforcements are here!"

A cheer went up from the scouts and engineers alike as a sudden flood of scouts entered the trenches. Best of all, Zach recognized his friend Duncan. "Thank God! Someone with offensive magics!"

Chuckling, Duncan quickly made his way next to his friend, "And I brought friends. Okay guys – let's show these demons _real_ magic!"

* * *

The area was once again secure, with the occasional fireball flung over from the other side to break the silence of the deadlock. Chris had been revived, although he was still exhausted and pale from the excessive use of his powers. His headache was almost enough for him to want to smash his skull against a wall until the ringing in his ears ceased but he knew there was nothing he could do about it until they got back to base.

Leaving the situation in Duncan's capable hands and his company of scouts, Chris and Les had left with the engineers to head back to base camp. Another plan would have to be formulated on how to gain access to the train station. For now, Chris was content to minimize further loss of life by defending their side of the area only.

Once back at base, Les had disappeared to update Darryl on what had happened…with the exception of Sheila.

That was one responsibility that Chris couldn't delegate.

He thought he was beyond his capacity for pain.

First his parents...then his aunts...grandpa...

Now Sheila.

Chris had loved his honourary aunt. She and Darryl had been part of his family ever since he could remember – the closest thing he had to a family now, his only rather tenuous hold on to a connection with happier memories in the past. How was he going to tell Darryl? _What would they do without her?_

He had gone straight to his quarters - telling Les that he needed to see Darryl after he briefed him.

"_Is that wise?" Les had asked. "Are you sure you want to be the one to tell him?"_

"_My responsibility," Chris had replied. "My responsibility, my burden. Tell Darryl that I want to meet him in his quarters after you're done briefing him."_

Splashing some water onto his face, he looked at himself in the mirror. His face was calm…expressionless. All traces of the dirt, tears and sweat were washed away. His eyes, still slightly red rimmed from the tears, fell away from his reflection, unable to maintain eye contact with the stranger with his face staring back at him.

Absently, he wiped his face with a towel, his heart heavy. He winced slightly for his head was still pounding. Knowing he couldn't put it off any longer, Chris tossed the towel into the nearby hamper and crossed his quarters to the door. Pulling it open, he steeled himself, throwing back his shoulders. He strode out into the hall, nodding absently to passers-bys…he envied their ignorance at that moment. Inside, his emotions were in turmoil – grief, rage and despair warred within. A scant ten minutes later, he stood outside Darryl's quarters.

He knocked on the door.

"Yes, come in," Darryl yelled.

_Go on_, Chris thought. It became a silent scream in his head. _Open the goddamn door, you bloody coward_, he berated himself. He placed his hand on the handle, noticing that it was trembling. Clenching his fist, he forced his hand to still and pushed against the heavy steel hard, hearing it squeak open slowly.

"That you, Chris? Les told me you wanted to talk with me. We'll have to come up with another strategy to secure that bridge," Darryl was shuffling papers at his desk, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to confirm the identity of his visitor. If he had spared a moment more, he would have noticed the hesitation in Chris' posture. Instead, his back to his guest, Darryl waved his hand at one of the chairs at the table behind him. "Make yourself comfortable. Sheila's out on a supply run but she should be back soon. She wanted to talk to you about increasing the rations to the children. She thinks they aren't getting enough nutrition and she's afraid that they may fall ill. It's bad enough we have to keep them all underground without access to the surface. Lack of sunlight can't be good for them."

Chris remained posed on the threshold of the doorway, unable to bring himself to enter the room.

Darryl finally noticed that Chris hadn't moved from his spot and raising his head, he turned to face his friend. He had been slow to notice the expression in Chris' eyes. They were filled with pain and grief...and sympathy? "Chris? What's going on?"

"It's Sheila," Chris croaked, hoarsely.

Darryl felt the dread hit his stomach like a lump of lead. His face showed apprehension as he choked out, "Is there some...problem with the supply run?"

"The supply run was in our area…the area where we were building the bridge…"

Darryl paled. "No…I thought I checked…they were suppose to be in the north side of the city canvassing."

"I…I don't know why they were there…but they were there," Chris shook his head. "And then…Les told you…we were ambushed...it all happened so fast..."

Angry, Darryl demanded, "What happened so fast?"

"I'm sorry, Darryl...there were too many demons...we never saw them coming..."

"What are you saying, Chris?" Rage driven by fear, Darryl reached out and grasped Chris' shoulders, shaking them hard. "Spit it out, goddamnit!"

"She's gone, Darryl. She's gone. I'm sorry," Chris whispered. "I'm so goddamned sorry."

Darryl's eyes widened with disbelief, Chris' words hitting him like physical blows. He recoiled at their impact, pushing the whitelighter away from him, staggering over to his chair. Supporting himself against the back of the chair, he sucked in deep breaths, trying to hold himself together.

The room was silent save for the breathing of the two men.

"How?"

Chris was confused. "Sorry?"

"How did she die? Was she...in pain?" Darryl turned his face towards Chris, silent tears running down his face. "Alone?"

Chris shook his head. "I...I reached her, but I couldn't do anything. I was too late. She...her back...she told me to tell you...she loved you."

Darryl drew in a shuddering breath, his eyes closed.

"I know..." Chris paused, hesitantly. "I know nothing I say can make this pain go away. But I thought...I thought you would want this..."

Opening his eyes, Darryl watched as Chris outstretched his arm towards him, his right hand turned upwards, his palm open. In the centre of his palm lay a ring.

Sheila's wedding ring.

Gently plucking the ring from Chris' hand, Darryl nodded his thanks, his eyes teary. "Thank you. And now...I think I'd like to be alone."

Nodding, Chris turned to leave, knowing he could do no more to comfort his friend. "Darryl - if you need to talk..."

Cutting him off, Darryl said brokenly, "I know. Just...when the kids check in…can you send them home to me? Someone has to tell them about...their mother. And I'd prefer not to do it through…communications…I…think I should tell them myself."

"Of course," Chris replied, quietly as he closed the door behind him. Alone in the hallway, Chris lowered his head. Swiftly he walked back to his own quarters, ducking inside before anyone could see him. Shutting the door securely behind him, he made his way over to his bed and abruptly sat down. He had promised himself, long ago, on the night he had discovered that his brother had murdered his family that he would never cry again.

After all, crying changed nothing.

Holding his head in his hands, he cried for five minutes, remembering his friend and her chocolate cake.

To be continued….

**And answers to some of your questions…**

_Have you read the Tomorrow series? _Nope. I'll add that to my already incredibly long list of 'books to read'.

_Have you read Dune or Brave New World?_ I think I read BNW a long time ago (memory is very hazy beyond 24 hours). Errr…does watching the Dune mini-series on TV count?

_How do you make your chapters so long?_ I've discovered that I'm incredibly long winded. Seriously? Discipline – I don't post till I have a certain number of pages. Which explains the long lag time between updates and my carpel tunnel syndrome.

_When will Bianca betray Chris? _I have no idea when (or if, or how for that matter…) she'll betray him as I didn't extensively plot this story out like the others. Your guess is as good as mine at this point!

_Is Sheila going to die in chapter 6?_ Your wish is my command…just kidding – I actually had Chap 6 pretty much written even before I started writing Chap 5.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Enjoy! (Oops – just spotted a mistake so I'm reposting this chapter a second time. Hopefully I caught it before all of you did!)

**Again, muchos gracias' go to:** IcantthinkofaFnick, Zeria, fanastygirl721, Sparkling Cherries, Shadow Dark Night, misscharmed, chattypandagurl, Charmed Ravenclaw, girl-with-the-green-eyes.

**Providence**

**Chapter 7**

_So much death. So much destruction. How could this be the fate of mankind? Better to think that destiny had been derailed, and that the nightmare in which I spent all my waking moments was never meant to be._

from the journals of Chris Halliwell

* * *

Against her resolve, Bianca had begun to feel the strain of living a lie amongst the Resistance. Everywhere she went, every person she met…they were all so damn…_friendly._

Take Theresa for instance. A few days ago Theresa had stopped by to take Bianca to 'get some new clothes.' The cheerful, friendly, _loud_ woman had dragged her from store to store (another advantage of taking over the shopping concourse as a base – plenty of clothes to chose from).

Initially taken aback from this overly friendly, but well meaning woman, Bianca had reluctantly allowed herself to be badgered into looking for clothes. However, Bianca had quickly found herself reluctantly having fun; they tried on clothes, some suitable and others _clearly_ not as Theresa decided they should play dress up. They had laughed at each other, dressed to the nines in stiletto heels and silky tops. After collapsing from the giggles, they had finally calmed themselves down enough to pick out some more serious clothing. Cotton was the watchword and anything that would be easy to mend, Theresa had cautioned. Four hours later, Bianca and Theresa had hauled her new wardrobe back to Bianca's room. Theresa had left her to organize her new clothes herself, with a word of warning that she would be back later to drag her to the mess hall for dinner.

Which quickly turned into every meal thereafter.

Apparently Theresa had taken it upon herself to help Bianca 'fit' in, as she called it. Meal times were full of meeting people Theresa introduced her to, the number of people she knew made Bianca's head spin. And these friends of Theresa? They quickly made room for her at their tables and consciously worked at incorporating her into their conversations. At first, Bianca hadn't wanted to meet other people. After all, she had a job to do. But then she justified that it would be easier to gather information on her target, subtly questioning those around her for any and all details so that she could start looking for weaknesses in Chris' routine.

At least, that's what she told herself whenever she found herself laughing at someone's joke.

And so, Bianca had made a new friend in Theresa, however reluctantly.

The problem was she found herself actually _caring_ about these people. Cared about their lives, their future…when it had never mattered before.

_Why?_

She reviewed her actions over the last few days.

Never before had she gotten to know her target. Always – it had been identify the target and take he or she out as quickly and as cleanly as possible. Five minutes, in and out. Twenty, if things were going badly. And now suddenly, she was spending days on end with these _people_…getting to know them…getting to know _Chris_.

_The target_, she reminded herself firmly.

It didn't bode well.

One of the fundamental rules of being a successful assassin was the necessary detachment. _No feelings_, her mother had lectured. Detachment from emotions, detachment from people and most important, detachment from the target.

So far, she was zero for three.

She fingered the teardrop pendant. _I just need to remember why I'm here. Why I had to _come_ here in the first place._

It was midday – or at least, that was what the clocks indicated. It was hard to tell, buried beneath dirt and concrete deep in the earth, no sunlight available to tell you if it was indeed daylight or nighttime. She wandered the halls, still trying to get her bearings. The tunnels within the base were incredibly complex. She was amazed that _anyone_ could find his or her way around. Every day she seemed to discover a new path, a new tunnel. And every night she would dutifully record it in a notebook she kept hidden in her dresser. Soon she would be able to plot out the entire base.

The only one area that she hadn't really been able to explore was the area around command central. It seemed that even though there was a general atmosphere of trust, there was still a limit to how far that trust went. That particular area was blocked off to the general public. She had tried to get past the guards the other day who were posted at the entrances into the area. No such luck. She had found three different ways leading into the quarantined area – and three sets of guards. Frustrating to say the least, as her target seemed to spend most of his waking hours there, the one place she _couldn't_ infiltrate with ease.

Even the area where his quarters were located was too risky. Housed with the rest of the Resistance fighters, those corridors were busy no matter what time of day. Unlike the general public dormitory area where her own room was located, there was no 'night' time when everyone was asleep. _Probably because they work in shifts_, she mused. There was definitely no way that she could sneak into that area without being seen. And she liked her own skin a little too much to risk being caught.

She turned another corner and entered a rotunda packed with people boxing supplies. The atmosphere in the room echoed the bleak feeling everywhere on base – one of rage and raw grief. News of the tragedy had quickly spread through the shocked population and many were still reeling with disbelief. Sheila's position as a teacher had put her in contact with the majority of the population. More than that, those who knew her, however briefly, revered her. She was, Bianca had swiftly discovered, one of the most loved individuals in the Resistance. Her constant championing of the children and her motherly manner had made her incredibly popular amongst all. Her loss, and the loss of the eight other members of her team, was felt deeply in the hearts of every person on base.

Skirting around the edges, she tried to unobtrusively cross the area to get to the hall on the other side. About to slip into the tunnel, a slight movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look up. Most normal people wouldn't have noticed, but as an assassin, observation skills were critical to survival and Bianca was trained to notice everything and everyone in a room.

It was Chris. He was sitting on the catwalk overlooking the rotunda. Alone, yet clearly not. His arms were draped around the guardrails as he swung his feet back and forth as they dangled in the air as he took in the scene below him. Against her better judgment, Bianca disappeared into the alcove to her left, taking the staircase that would lead her to the catwalk above. She tried to rationalize her actions. _This is a perfect opportunity for me to get him to trust me. _

He turned as he heard someone approach him, a little resentful; he had come to the catwalk because he wanted to be alone. His eyes widened in surprise as he recognized Bianca. Nodding a greeting, he returned to studying the scene below him.

Cautiously taking a seat beside him, Bianca crossed her legs beneath her rather than let them dangle over the edge like Chris'. She said nothing, sitting in companionable silence with him for a few minutes, listening to the noises from below as it drifted up towards them.

"I heard about your friend…Sheila…and the others," Bianca finally broke the silence between them. It had been all over the mess hall the other day. The attack, the losses.

Silence.

For a moment, Bianca didn't think Chris was going to respond. When his voice broke the silence, she jumped involuntarily – startled.

"You know…you're the first person who didn't say immediately to me that they were sorry," Chris said, conversationally.

Bianca reflected on that statement for a moment, recalling her own feelings when she had learned her mother had been killed, "Sorry doesn't quite cover it, does it?"

Chris laughed harshly – an unpleasant sound. "No, no it doesn't."

"How is her husband doing? Darryl?" Bianca ventured.

He rubbed his face wearily. "I guess as good as he can, under the circumstances. Thank God he wasn't there when she died…couldn't see what they'd done to her…"

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Chris mimicked, a little bitter.

"Look – if you want to be alone…fine. Just say so. There's no reason to take that tone with me," Bianca got to her feet. "I just thought you might want someone to talk to. I know I sure did when I found out my mother was killed."

Chris' hand shot out, wrapping around Bianca's wrist, "You're right. I had no right to speak to you that way."

"Well, maybe a little," Bianca allowed. "You obviously came up here to be alone." She paused before continuing, "Would you like me to leave?"

Letting go of her wrist, Chris shook his head hesitantly. "No. No…I think…I think I'd like the company."

Sitting back down, Bianca glanced over at Chris, his face carefully averted away from her. She caught a glimpse of his profile as he turned his head slightly before returning his gaze to the scene below them. In that glimpse, she recognized the same anguish and grief written all over his face that she had felt at her mother's passing.

"You were there. I heard…you were there as she breathed in her last moments," Bianca said, not really knowing what else to say.

"She was…Every time I close my eyes, I see her face….the way she was when I found her. She…she was in such _pain_…" Chris' fists tightened around the guardrails. "And there wasn't anything that I could do…nothing that I could say…to take the pain away."

Bianca remained silent. _How had her mother died? Alone? Scared?_

"It's not fair. This war…so many lives lost – and for what? So that Wyatt can be 'all powerful'?" Chris asked, rhetorically. "She was…why did she have to die _that_ way? Damn it!"

"I don't know," Bianca replied sympathetically. She heard the grief and rage in his voice, so similar to her own feelings that she could _not_ be sympathetic, even as she struggled to hold onto her anger at him.

"She didn't deserve to die that way…she didn't…" Chris shook his head.

"No one does."

Chris fell silent again.

"Even though I only met her for that one brief moment, I could tell that she was…important to you," Bianca spoke hesitantly.

Chris nodded. "She was…my friend. Family."

She prompted, "Tell me more about her."

"She wanted to celebrate my birthday, can you believe it?" Chris shook his head, sadly. "Wouldn't let me talk her out of it…she was that stubborn."

"Or maybe she just knew you needed something to celebrate?"

"Maybe…" Chris thought, unconvinced. "I think…I think she was aware how little time we spend with each other anymore. We're all so busy with running the Resistance that we forget about family. Sheila was the glue that held us together, you know?"

"My mother was like that, for me…" Bianca offered, her voice distant. _Focus_, she shook herself inwardly. _He's the enemy_, she reminded herself, trying to dampen the emotions of sympathy and the connection she was beginning to feel for him. Suppressing the niggling of her conscience in the back of her mind, she said aloud, "What else?"

"She was…amazing. Not only did she organize all the classes for the children, she brow beat anyone who thought it was a waste of time," Chris chuckled, remembering. "I remember this one time –,"

He continued on and on with a string of reminiscences, giving Bianca a brief but insightful look into this 'leader' of the Resistance. These past few days she had been learning as much about him as best she could under the circumstances. She had been amazed at the number of people who claimed to know Chris. Everyone she asked clearly held him in high esteem. It had quickly become apparent to her that he put others first and himself last.

Her subtle questioning of some of the residents that she had met in the mess hall quickly led her to conclude that while Darryl might run the day-to-day operations, ultimately the Resistance looked to its young leader for guidance. Chris' familiarity with his brother helped them to exploit Wyatt's weaknesses and his knowledge of spells from being the son of the Charmed One only strengthened his value to the cause. More than that, they trusted him. They trusted him to take care of them, to protect them and to save them. And he worked hard to not betray that trust.

He was kind, loyal, incredibly intelligent and truly cared for people.

He was, in fact, the exact opposite of his brother.

People _needed_ him.

_So what?_ Bianca argued with herself, as she questioned what would happen to the Resistance if Chris was no longer there to lead. _He still killed mom._

He only stopped when he suddenly realized that his throat was dry and that he'd been talking for a good forty five minutes. He blinked in surprise, stuttering, "Good God! I'm sorry – I didn't mean to go on and on like that."

Bianca shrugged a shoulder negligently. "It's okay. It's better now, though, isn't it? Better that you remember your friend the way she lived instead of the way she died. Isn't that a better memorial?"

"Yes," Chris said, faintly. "Yes, it is." He turned to look at the girl sitting next to him, her profile fixed on the scene unfolding beneath them. "Thank you."

She glanced at him in surprise, "For what?"

"For listening…for helping me remember Sheila the way she was…and not the way she died."

Touched in spite of herself, Bianca stood up. It was time for her to leave before her already tangled emotions become even more so. "I'm glad I could help. And Chris? Everything will be okay."

Taking her leave, she walked away slowly from the young man. She forced herself to not turn around, to see if he was looking at her.

She glanced over her shoulder.

He was looking at her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She turned away and hurried back to her room.

_Everything will be okay… _

* * *

The two men eyed their target. In the sewers of L.A., Darryl's sons DJ and Michael were hock deep in shit.

Literally.

"Please…please…," Phinks blubbered. "What did I ever do to you guys? Don't I always come through? Haven't I always been straight with you guys?"

Michael casually tossed the crystal in the air, the lassiez-faire attitude more menacing than if he had been using it to actually _shock_ the demon.

DJ and his brother circled their sometime informant as he cringed and cowered in the crystal cage. DJ stopped to ask without inflection, "Do you _really_ want me to answer that?"

Meeting Michael's eyes, DJ nodded once. Phinks' eyes widened in terror as Michael reached down with the crystal in his right hand, delivering an electric shock to the demon inside the cage.

"All right, all right!" Phinks' whimpered. "What do you want? What do you want?"

DJ crouched down so that his face was on level with the trembling demon, "Word on the street is that Marcus was killed by an assassin. You remember Marcus, don't you Phinks? Tall, fair haired whitelighter." A pause. "One of your main contacts?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Phinks sniveled. "Honest I don't. Never heard the name before in my life. You sure you got the right demon?"

Sighing, DJ straightened, nodding at Michael again. Michael leaned down, delivering another electric shock to the demon.

The scent of burnt flesh filled the air.

Curling himself into a fetal position, Phinks half-sobbed, "Okay! Okay! I knew him…I knew him, all right? He and I…we had a deal going. I gave him some info on Wyatt and he'd pay me for it…But that's it! I swear! I don't know nothing about him being killed!"

Shaking his head, DJ circled the crystal cage. DJ gestured at his brother, "Why are you lying to me, Phinks? Do I look like I was born yesterday? Give him another shock…"

"Wait! Wait a sec! Maybe…maybe I might know something…" Phinks protested, eyeing the crystal in Michael's hand fearfully. "Yeah…yeah…it's coming back to me…"

Rolling his eyes, DJ stood impassively in front of Phinks, "It'd better come back to you fast or my brother here will give you another shock to help your memory along…"

"I remember now! I do! It's just you holding that thing, waving it in my face and all is making me forget," Phinks sniffled, a little resentfully. "Maybe I'd remember faster if you put that thing away for a minute."

DJ narrowed his eyes at the flinching demon, debating whether or not to cut Phinks some slack. After a few minutes, he came to a decision and nodded at Michael, "All right. Put it away for now." Glaring at the demon, DJ ordered, "You better start talking fast or you'll be wishing for that crystal in a couple of minutes."

Phinks nodded empathically, his head bobbing up and down in his haste to agree, "Thank you. Oh thank you. I knew you were a kind soul when I first saw you. I said to myself, that man looks like a nice –,"

"Enough!" DJ growled. "Who killed Marcus?"

"You have to understand, I ain't got nothing to do with it, you know?" Phinks protested. "I just heard about it, is all."

"Fine," DJ bit out. "You didn't have anything to do with it. Now who killed Marcus?"

"I don't know their names," Phinks started.

"Oh for Pete's sake," DJ bit out angrily. "You're wasting my time. Michael – he's all yours!"

"No! Wait! No!" Phinks shrieked. "I didn't know their names but I know how you can identify them!"

Tapping his foot impatiently, DJ quirked his eyebrow at the demon, "Well?"

Phinks wiped his running nose with the back of his hand, "They were a mother-daughter team, I think. You know – the big time. The real deal."

"Phinks…" DJ said warningly.

"They were a couple of Phoenixes," Phinks replied hastily. "You know – an elite coven of witch assassins?"

Trading looks with his brother, Michael prompted, "Phoenixes?"

"Yeah, Wyatt's got a bunch of them at the stronghold," Phinks explained. "They're top of the food chain or pretty much. They're a family of assassins – they've been killing for hire for centuries. Kind of a family business, you know?"

"What else do you know about them?" DJ demanded.

Phinks shrugged. "They're real powerful and real elite. Best of the best, they say. Rumour has it that once they go after a bounty, they don't stop till they succeed."

"You said you knew how to i.d. them?" DJ reminded their prisoner. "How do we know if we've caught one?"

"First off – you wouldn't catch one. Like I said, they're better than best," Phinks rubbed his nose, scratching it. "But I've heard they all were born with a distinct birthmark."

"And what does the birthmark look like?" Michael demanded, exasperated.

"Maybe I could remember if you took this cage down," Phinks said slyly. "All this electricity is making my brain hum…"

"In your dreams, you piece of sh –," Michael started.

"Michael!" DJ cut him off, shooting him a glare. Reaching into his pocket, DJ pulled out a vial. "See this Phinks? It's a vanquishing potion. Cage comes down and if you make one wrong move – I'll hit you with this before you can say 'poof.'"

"Fine!" Phinks grumbled, eying the vial a little resentfully. "And I think I'm having memory problems again!"

Nodding at Michael, who then kicked the crystals that formed the cage around Phinks away, DJ merely lifted his right eyebrow, holding the vial aloft, "You sure you don't remember?"

"All right, all right! No need to be hasty!" Phinks put up his hands in front of him, backing away slowly. He came up short as he felt himself back into Michael. "The birthmark looks like a bird arising from flames."

"A Phoenix!" DJ mused.

"Well, d'uh!" Phinks snickered. He began to protest as Michael picked him up by the collar, "Hey! Hey! I told you what you wanted to know! Let me go!"

"You wouldn't be lying to us now, would you Phinks?" DJ asked, menacingly. "Because if you are…"

"No, no! I told you straight. I'll even throw in a freebie," Phinks protested hastily. "Something I heard from a friend of a friend…."

"Demons don't have friends, Phinks," DJ snorted disbelievingly.

Phinks shrugged. "Okay, fine. Whatever. The point is, I heard something real good. Real important to you, I'd guess."

"Well?" Michael asked impatiently.

"The thing is…" Phinks trailed off, "I'm kind of low on –,"

"You little piece of –," Michael moved to grab at Phinks again.

"Michael!" DJ held him back. Meeting his brother's eyes, DJ reached into his jacket, pulling forth a small cloth sack. Tossing it at the demon, "Well?"

Phinks eagerly loosed the strings and peered inside the sack. Grinning gleefully, he nodded his thanks at DJ, "Just what I wanted. I've been looking for them for –,"

"Phinks!" DJ roared. "I'm losing my patience!"

Rubbing his head, Phinks eyed DJ warily, "Keep your top on! Phinks always keeps his word. I heard that one of them assassins has snuck into your base on orders straight from the lord himself. The bugger is going to take out lord Wyatt's brother…your leader!"

Enraged, Michael stormed over to the demon, grabbing his collar with both hands, shaking the demon hard, "You lying shi-,"

"Michael!" DJ warned again. Pulling Michael off the now cowering demon, he eyed the demon in disgust, "If you're lying…."

"I ain't lying! I just told you what I heard down there. Maybes' I got it wrong. Maybes' I got it right," Phinks sniffled. "Ain't my job to find out. I just tell it like it is."

DJ spat on the ground, making a slashing movement across his throat, "Get out of here, Phinks. And if I find out that you told _anyone_ about this encounter… ffftttt."

Phinks' eyes widened in horror, "I won't tell no one! No way! You can trust your friend Phinks. Yes, you can."

"Get out of here. Now," DJ grimaced.

Nodding, Phinks scampered off a few feet away before shimmering out. Left alone, the two Resistance fighters stared at each other.

"Well?" DJ asked the question they were both thinking.

"Well – I think he's a lying piece of shit, that's what I think," Michael snorted. "You can't trust a word that pathetic demon says."

"But what if there's a chance it _is_ true? I think we need to get back to base. Let Les know what's going on," DJ offered. "We have no idea how long or who this assassin could be. I think we tell Dad and Les and let them figure out the next steps."

"Damn, I wish we hadn't sent Slick back early," Michael grumbled, referring to their telepath.

DJ shrugged. "He was needed elsewhere. We thought we could get by." Looking at his brother, "I think we need to boogie home ASAP. If we drive all night, we could be back at base by tomorrow night."

"Agreed," Michael nodded. "No use crying over split milk. Let's just hope we make it back in time before the assassin gets a chance to strike."

* * *

Les eyed his friend doubtfully. Chris hadn't spoken a word to him since they'd come back from the train station. Well – not a word outside of anything that didn't directly have to do with the Resistance's operations.

Chris and Les were pouring over the maps in command central. Darryl had been given 'leave' from his duties for the foreseeable future – so that he could deal with his grief in privacy. But time marched on and Chris knew they were holding down their side of the ridge just barely and needed to strategize their next move.

"We'll have to retake the train station first this time. Then rebuild the bridge," Chris mused aloud, intently studying the markings on the map. He made a couple of notes to himself on a notepad he kept next to him for just that purpose.

"Didn't we try just that? And got our asses kicked?" Les asked, bluntly. He fidgeted in his seat, loosing the buttons on the collar of his shirt. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he glanced over at Chris whose entire focus was on the map in front of him.

Chris ignored him, circling some points on the map before flipping the pages in his notebook. "Yes…yes…we could get the sections built here first then ship them over…"

Les waited as Chris continued to murmur to himself. Giving up on trying to contribute (it wasn't like Chris needed his help anyways), he decided to bring up a topic that Chris had been avoiding mentioning the last few days.

"The memorial service is in two days," Les said hesitantly.

"I know," Chris said quietly, eyes still on the notepad.

"They'll be expecting you to say something," Les ventured.

"I know."

"What are you going to say?" Les wanted to know.

"I don't know."

"I had communications break protocol a couple of nights ago and get in touch with Darryl's kids. I told them to get their asses back here but they said they were on to something. Something big," Les said wearily. "And because I couldn't tell them why they had to come back immediately, they said they'd be back in a couple of days. Once they figured out what it is they've stumbled on."

Chris continued to study the map in front of him, "It's Darryl's decision. He wants to be the one to tell them. We need to respect that."

"They'll miss the memorial service, Chris!" Les protested. "If they knew…they'd be back in a flash. I know they would!"

Chris made a couple of notations on the pad next to him, "It's not our call, Les."

Frustrated, Les slammed his hand down on top of the writing pad, preventing Chris from making further notes, "Wouldn't you want to know?"

Pulling on the pad, Chris slid the paper out from under Les' hand and replied coolly, "It doesn't matter what I want. It's what Darryl wants."

"Then why can't we hold off on the service? Until the kids get back?" Les asked urgently.

"Because Darryl and the families of the other team members wanted it then. They need closure, Les. And without a grave…" Chris trailed off, not wanting to add _and no bodies to bury..._

"It's not right, Chris. It's not _fair_," Les said, frustrated – no longer speaking about the service.

"Life isn't fair. You should know that by now."

Disgusted, Les let Chris pull the pad from his grip, "How can you be like this? How can you just keep going like nothing happened? _How can you be so cold?_"

Silence.

Knowing he had gone too far, Les attempted to retract his statement, "Chris – I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I know you're hurting too. I…I just…"

"I think you need to take some time off, Les," Chris said evenly, his eyes still focused on the maps lying on the desk in front of him. "I've got things under control here."

"Chris –," Les tried to apologize for his outburst. "I just…I'm just so _angry_…Sheila…I loved her…she…she was my family…"

"I know," Chris replied, still not meeting his friend's eyes. "Go. Check on Darryl and the families of the others. Come back when you're ready and not before."

Acknowledging the dismissal, Les left the small meeting room, shutting the door behind him softly.

Alone, Chris finally put his pencil down, tearing his gaze away from the maps in front of him. His eyes lingered on the door. How he longed to get away from the daily grind of it all, to run back to his quarters and lie in his bed with the covers pulled over his head like when he was little.

_Chris_, his mother would say, thoroughly exasperated. _You stop that right now! You can't hide in bed all day. The world doesn't stop just because you might want it to._

How right she had been. With Darryl grieving, the day-to-day operations fell squarely in Chris' lap. There was no one else but him to pick up the slack. Les was too angry and their other friends…Zach, Duncan, Ben, Slick…they had their own duties to attend to and teams they were responsible for.

Somewhere inside him, Chris could feel the grief was slowly eating away at his soul. He had learned to stop thinking of their tally losses as people and merely as numbers. Suppressing his emotions had been automatic. Sheila's death had changed that back with a vengeance. _These weren't numbers_, he thought savagely. _They were people. Somebody's friend, son, father, daughter, mother..._

More casualties of this useless and stupid war.

He withdrew his wallet, carefully unfolding the faded photograph of his family from happier times. He reverently traced the faces of his family with his index finger.

_Mom…tell me what to do…_

He had never been able to reconcile the image of the older brother he had grown up with to this ruthless, power-hungry, _evil_ man that wore the face of his brother. Somewhere, somehow along the way…_something_ had turned Wyatt away from the good side.

Right?

And yet…

That same man was sending _demons_ to rampage and murder innocent people – just so that he could call himself the 'most powerful' being in the world.

_Why? _

_Why all this killing, Wy? Why the murder of so many innocents? So many people…our own family, goddamnit!…And now…aunt Sheila…_

_How many more? How many more have to die just so you can be the 'all powerful' one? _

It was sick.

Sheila was gone. So were thousands of others. Including his parents…

All gone before their time.

Leaving him…alone.

And at that moment, he _hated_. He hated with a pure, blinding rage. He hated his life, he hated this war…but most of all, he _hated_ his brother.

Guilt quickly followed on the heels of anger.

He could practically hear his mother's voice ringing in his ears…_Don't give up on him, Chris. He's family. He's your_ _brother_.

When Chris had first formed the Resistance alongside Darryl, he had secretly harboured the hope that his brother wasn't lost to them. In his heart of hearts, he had wished that everything that had happened since _that_ day had all been a mistake. A misunderstanding on Chris' part and everyone else's. That Wyatt wasn't ruler of all evil. That…that somehow, some way…there was a reason behind everything that his brother was doing. And maybe…maybe they just couldn't see it.

Chris folded the photograph, the well-worn creases easily bending under his care. He tucked the photograph back into its proper place in his wallet.

When Chris had closed Sheila's eyes for the last time, when he'd looked into Darryl's grief stricken face after telling him the news, Chris finally let himself see what that reason was.

Wyatt was evil.

He felt his resolve settle, pushing all else, emptying all emotions…all his _pain_…away.

Wyatt had to be stopped.

Chris felt a hardening in his centre…in his heart…that nothing much could reach anymore, let alone affect.

And that moment, he made his decision. He cut all ties, emotional or otherwise, to his brother…no, no more. He would no longer recognize any familial ties to that…_man_…anymore.

He was the enemy. Pure and simple.

The die had been cast.

The lines were drawn.

There was no going back now. That was clear.

It was time to accept the inevitable.

It was time to kill Wyatt.

_Mom, can you ever forgive me? _

To be continued….


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks to all who take the time to review – your comments help me revisit the directions the story takes. (I seem to be having problems uploading my story with the proper formatting...the section splits aren't showing up and show of the italicising isn't showing either...hopefully I've caught them all. If not, I apologize.)

**Fanastygirl721:** Neither can I! Enjoy!

**IcantthinkofaFnick:** Nope that wasn't a typo. That was me showcasing my ignorance of the Spanish language and incredible laziness in not looking that up on the 'net like I should have. Many apologies. _Merci_ for the correction – I do appreciate it. I shall stick to showcasing my terrible French from now on…

**Chattypandagurl:** Glad you liked it…stay tuned for the answer to your question.

**Cherrygirl1987:** No worries, I'm definitely continuing.

**Girl-with-the-green-eyes:** Glad you liked the way the chapter ended. Originally I had that scene in the middle of the chapter but then reordered it just before I posted it. Good to know I wasn't the only one who thought it worked better that way.

**Shadow Dark Night:** I like you too! Your reviews let me know that the themes I'm writing are being picked up on – so thank you.

**Leigh1986:** Glad that line got you…it was supposed to!

**Sparkling Cherries:** Soon…I promise! In fact…

**

* * *

Providence**

**Chapter 8**

_Why?  
_from the journals of Chris Halliwell, the only entry for that day

* * *

The service was held in the mess hall for it was one of the few areas on base large enough to house the Resistance's significant population. Everyone who wasn't 'on duty' was here – standing room only. In front, a table had been set up with a single white candle representing each member of the fallen team. On Chris' left, Les stood statue-like and stoic. His eyes focused on the ground, Chris absorbed the very stillness of the room, the silence only punctuated by raspy breathing and the racking sobs of the raw grief.

He envied that display of emotion, the cathartic release…craved it, even.

Instead he was numb.

Over the past year, he had lost track of how many services he had attended. Certainly more than he'd ever imagined if you asked him a mere two years earlier.

As the clock struck ten, the procession began to solemnly file into the hall, a family member representing each of the slain team. Slowly they made their way to the front to stand in front of the table. Dressed in black, they each carefully lit a candle for their loved one; Darryl lighting the candle representing Sheila last.

The silence in the mess hall was deafening.

"He was a good man…"

"She loved life and lived each day to the fullest…"

"He gave up his life for something he believed in…"

The eulogies went on and on but Chris barely comprehended any of it, their words washing over him in waves. He stared at the family members of his comrades in arms, watching their mouths open, their lips move but hearing nothing.

Feeling…nothing.

He shivered.

As their tears poured down their cheeks and they choked out their eulogies, Chris could feel himself shrinking inside. Every heart-wrenching sob, every anguished look – it stabbed him to the gut.

The hardest demand as a leader was to send men and women on missions that could result in their deaths, and then, just as blithely, the next day sends others to face the same potential fate.

And yet he had…and knew he would continue to do so.

The guilt settled on his shoulders like a heavy winter cloak. He was comfortable with this old friend – guilt. He had pushed it to the back of his mind until recently, deceiving himself into thinking of their losses as mere numbers on a piece of paper. And now, only when Sheila had met the same fate as hundreds had before her, that Chris once again felt the full weight of that guilt on his chest, smothering and suffocating him.

He felt tears prick his eyes as he watched each family member lay a wreath on the table encircling each candle. He rapidly blinked them away, holding onto his composure by the skin of his teeth.

The family members moved away, openly weeping, and as expected of him, Chris came forward to clasp each one in a strong hug, whispering words of condolences in their ears, feeling hypocritical. How could mere words offer comfort to someone who had just lost a loved one? He stared into Darryl's grief stricken eyes and could only murmur inadequately, "She loved you."

As the family members turned to take their places amongst the grieving crowd, Chris made his way to the podium to the right of the table that had been set up for him. Gripping the sides of the podium with his hands, his knuckles whitening, he waited for the crowd to quiet down. Unlike the family members, Chris had not prepared anything specific to say. He wanted the words to come from his heart and not his mind.

He paused.

Opening his mouth, it scared him how easily the words began to flow, how quickly his memories of other eulogies given flooded his consciousness.

"We come here today to honour those that were so recently taken away from us. We come to remember those who have given their lives. We offer our condolences and support to the families that they leave behind. I know that whatever condolences we give, it cannot be enough…but I, and everyone here, offer it to you just the same.

Your loss will be an open wound in each of our hearts.

We share your grief, your pain and your sorrow – for we have lost members of our own family as surely as you have, for they were our brothers and sisters of the Resistance."

Pausing, Chris made eye contact with each family member. "They were heroes…each one of them. Your loved ones served with honour, dignity and loyalty – they stood for all that is good in this world.

We honour them today – for their courage, their dedication and their valour. I'd like to share a poem with you; one that was once shared with me…A man lives for as long as we carry him inside us, for as log as we carry the harvest of his dreams, for as long as we ourselves live, holding memories in common…a man lives.

I promise you today…we all promise you today – they will forever live in our hearts."

Bowing his head in prayer, Chris closed his eyes – leading everyone in a minute of silence to honour their dead friends.

Past and present.

And the only thought that Chris could think was…

_Why?_

* * *

She stood at the back of the room, barely able to see over the crowd in front of her. Her eyes followed him as soon as he had entered the mess hall. She watched him as he gravely made his way to the podium to deliver his address. While she was too far back to see his facial expression, each word that he spoke echoed loudly in the mess hall. She heard the sincerity and grief in each utterance, the heartache in his voice.

He seemed to be much older than the nineteen years she knew him to be.

He was…a leader.

The words he'd spoken…his facial expression grief stricken…his tone full of sorrow yet so full of strength.

And her heart had ached in sympathy for him.

Her mind nervously shied away from the thought.

So what? Was she thinking that she'd let her vengeance go?

To answer that question, she forced herself to examine her feelings.

She had tried to shake it off – those _feelings_ that kept interfering. It was just that everywhere she turned, everyone she spoke with…made her understand him a little more. Spying on him, she'd come to know him well…maybe even better than he knew himself. She'd seen him go without sleep for days, his concern for others driving him until he ran himself ragged. Responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders and unlike some others Bianca could name, he did not shirk away from it – no matter how undesirable that duty could be.

She'd gathered enough information to learn that an assassin had surprised Chris on his way back from a mission. She was sure that assassin had been her mother – seemingly confirming Wyatt's news that it likely _had_ been Chris who'd killed her mother.

_He was defending himself_, she argued with herself. _Killing an assassin before he was killed himself. Could I really blame him for that? Preferring to kill his attacker than dying himself?_

Wasn't that what _all_ of the other…targets…would have preferred?

All the anger in her seemed to leach away. She was tired; tired of being angry, tired of hating.

Could she really let it go? Could she really let her mother's death go unavenged?

She felt her heart soften just a bit.

So many people _needed_ Chris. Good people. People like Theresa. People like Elise.

She fingered her pendant – the pendant that had belonged to her mother.

_No._

There was only way that she could let her mother's death go, only one way she could rid herself of the grief currently clouding her judgment…

_A life for a life._

* * *

It was difficult for Les to manoeuvre through the tunnel teeming with people on his way back to his quarters. He winced as someone accidentally stepped on his foot and bumped into his shoulder from behind, brushing by so swiftly that he barely had a chance to hear the muttered apology. Rubbing his shoulder, he sighed. The base was particularly crowded today due to the minimum contingent of scouts on circuit duty – the rest had arrived on base to attend the service.

"Les! Hey Les! Wait up!"

Turning at the sound of his name, Les blinked in surprise. Darryl's sons were waving him down. Stepping politely to one side of the crowded hallway, he waited for the two to catch up to him. "DJ! Michael! When did you guys get in? We weren't expecting you. Why didn't you let someone know you were coming in?"

"We just got in. Look, we need to –," DJ started, grabbing Les' arm to pull him in the direction of the command centre.

Les shrugged DJ's grip off, cutting him off, "Have you seen your dad yet?"

Startled, DJ pulled back. "Nah. We were just on our way back from the command centre to see him. But he wasn't there. We were going to try his quarters. It was just luck that we ran into you."

Standing awkwardly in the corridor, Les looked everywhere except in DJ's eyes. "I think you should go find your dad first. We can catch up later."

Michael shook his empathetically, "No. You don't understand. This is important Les. Real important. But we can't just blurt it out here…we need to go somewhere secure."

Before Les could say another word, DJ grabbed Les' arm again, dragging him behind him. As Les struggled to break free, the two brothers continued to bicker back and forth good-naturedly.

"We should tell him and dad at the same time," DJ was saying.

"What if dad's not at his quarters – you plan on dragging Les with us everywhere while we look for him?" Michael pointed out. "Here. Let's get inside."

Opening a door to their right, the two shoved Les inside quickly before shutting the door securely behind them. The tiny room was lined with shelves, stacked with toiletries and other cleaning supplies – too small to be used as living quarters, someone had cleverly turned it into a supplies closet.

Les cursed as he bumped into the corner of one of the shelves, his elbow tingling. "Damn it! Could you guys not have picked a bigger room?" he grumbled.

Michael and DJ traded glances, both saying in unison, "No time."

Les heaved a sigh. "Look guys. I get you've got something really important to get off your chests but I really think you should go see your dad first."

Too preoccupied with their intel, neither of Darryl's sons seemed to pick up on Les' gentle hinting. Taking the lead, DJ brushed off Les' comments instead saying, "You don't understand…we found out that there could be a spy on base."

About to emphasize to the two again that they needed to find Darryl, Les' mouth snapped shut. As the words infiltrated his brain, "Wha – ?"

Michael nodded vigorously. "That's what was so important and why we didn't alert command that we were coming back. We didn't want to tip off the spy."

Les ran his hand through his hair in thought, "Who else knows you know?'

The two brothers exchanged looks, "You. Our informant. We were on our way to tell dad. That's it."

"Good," Les grimaced. "Who was the informant?"

"Phinks."

Les frowned, "I wouldn't trust a thing that demon says even if my life depended on it."

DJ looked at his brother before saying mildly, "I'm pretty sure he told the truth."

"What did you guys do to him that you're so confident?" Les scoffed. Noticing the silent glances the two brothers exchanged again, Les abruptly changed his mind. "No…no, don't tell me. I think I'm better off not knowing. All right – you had better tell me everything you know about this spy."

DJ began to tick off the facts on his fingers, "One half of a mother-daughter assassin team that killed Marcus. Whoever she is, she's after Chris. On orders from Wyatt."

Les snapped his fingers, "A couple of weeks ago, on our way back from a mission, we were ambushed by a woman. She went straight for Chris. We pretty much figured she was an assassin. You can relax guys – I got a good look at her before she got away. So did Chris. She is certainly not on base. Looks like your intel is stale."

The two brothers sagged in relief. "Thank God," DJ muttered, "though I'm a little pissed with Phinks right now."

Les smiled at the two, "Good work though, you two. It's good to have that stuff confirmed. We were going on guesswork before."

"Thanks," Michael replied as DJ nodded, acknowledging the credit.

"Anything else interesting happen in L.A.?" Les questioned.

"No," Michael replied for both himself and his brother, "but we'd best file our report with command and then go see Dad."

Les shook his head. "The report can wait. Come on, we're going to see Darryl right now." He opened the door, gesturing to the two brothers to precede him. Les ignored the puzzled looks from the passersby in the corridor as he too stepped out of the supplies closet.

Shrugging their agreement, the two brothers walked with Les through the tunnels to their parents' quarters. Michael threw a look at Les, who studiously ignored it, "Something the matter?"

Les sighed. "Let's just find your Dad."

* * *

The emotional strain of the day began to take its toll.

Weary beyond belief, Chris had slipped away from the memorial service as soon as it was possible for him to do so without being noticed. He knew he should head straight to the command room but he couldn't bring himself to head in that direction. Feeling like a caged tiger, he had loosened his tie and instead decided he needed to escape.

Jogging quickly through the base, Chris focused on taking even breaths, working on calming his nervous energy. His escape led him to that part of the base where he headed whenever he felt the need to get away from the pressures of his life. Slowly he walked towards the solitary bench. The stillness of the air contributed to the dead silence of the area.

Unbuttoning his collar and the top three buttons of his shirt, he shucked his jacket, draping it over the back of the bench. Sinking down onto the wooden seat, he stretched his legs out in front of him.

At nineteen he'd given more eulogies than any other type of speech.

Surely there was something wrong with that.

His mind flew back to the most difficult service he'd attended…the very first service he'd ever attended…

"_I don't understand," Chris' eyes filled with tears. "I don't understand, grandpa."_

_Chris' grandfather knelt next to his youngest grandson, "I don't have any answers for you, Chris."_

_The tears spilled down his cheeks. "How can…how can Dad just keep going? Like nothing happened. Like everything's still the same. Mom's gone. Mom's _gone_, grandpa."_

"_Everyone experiences and expresses their grief in different ways, Chris. Your dad…he has to keep going. I think he's afraid that if he stops for one moment, if he stops long enough to think…" Victor's voice trailed off. _

_Chris stared at his reflection in the mirror, feeling lost and bewildered. He watched as his grandfather gripped him by the shoulders and turned him around so that he was now facing his grandfather._

_Victor sighed, reaching out to straighten Chris' tie, brushing the imaginary lint from shoulders of his jacket. Chris' eyes were a brilliant green against the pallor of his face, white crispness of his shirt and the black suit. "You ready?"_

_Chris shook his head, tugging at the tie that was choking him, "No. I don't want to go, grandpa. I don't want to go…"_

_Standing up, Victor gathered his grandson into a deep hug, "You need to let her go, Chris. You need to say goodbye. You'll regret it if you don't."_

_Chris awkwardly returned the hug, saying softly, "I'm not ready to let her go yet."_

_Releasing his grandson, Victor took a step back and said steadily, "None of us are, Chris." _

_Silence._

_Victor sighed again, "It's time, Chris."_

"_Dad and Wy are meeting us there, right?"_

_Victor nodded. "There were some last minute details Leo needed to take care of and your brother didn't want to let him out of his sight."_

_Chris nodded gravely, "Wy's worried about Dad. Worried that he's in denial."_

_Victor's eyebrow lifted, surprised by Wyatt's perception. He was only sixteen. Then again, Wyatt was mature for his age due to his being responsible for so much magic at such a young age. "Wyatt told you that?"_

_Chris rubbed at his red-rimmed eyes, "Yeah. He didn't want me to think he was ditching me or something."_

_Wyatt took his responsibility as older brother seriously, a credit to Piper's parenting. Victor nodded, "So you think you can orb us there?"_

_Nodding reluctantly, Chris stepped forward, placing his hand in his grandpa's._

_They materialized in the anteroom at the funeral home. Through the double doors Chris could see that the room was crowded to overflowing. He flinched, taking a step back to hide slightly behind his grandfather. Victor looked down at his grandson. Releasing Chris' hand from his grip, Victor gently placed his hand on Chris' right shoulder. Giving his grandson a slight push, Victor whispered, "I'll be right behind you. Okay?"_

_Chris nodded silently. Slowly he moved forward, feeling like he was waking from a deep sleep. As he walked down the aisle, he could see people turn towards him, their mouths moving, their words of comfort flowing forth uselessly. He ignored them. His eyes were fixated on the open casket at the front of the room._

_Like in dreams, their words came to him distorted, their movements in slow motion. Only the strong presence of his grandfather at his back stopped him from whipping around and running screaming from the room._

_He continued to trudge ahead, placing one foot in front of the other with enormous effort, each step harder and harder to take. Chris felt himself began to breath rapidly, almost hyperventilating. He saw his uncle Darryl and his family, and then his own family. His aunts, his father…his brother. Latching desperately onto his brother's eyes with his own, Chris drew strength from Wyatt's emotions – so similar to his own. Finally reaching his brother's side, Chris shuffled into the seat next to him, clutching at his brother's arm for support._

_The service began – each of his aunts weeping profusely as they remembered their sister. Leo was unable to continue his eulogy…Darryl had to complete it. _

_It was time._

_Wyatt pulled Chris from his seat, the two brothers leaning on each other heavily. Taking the huge bouquet of white roses from a nearby table, Wyatt approached their mother's casket. Tears were streaming down his face as he leaned down to press a kiss against Piper's cheek. Reverently he placed the flowers on top of the lower half of the casket. Stepping back, Wyatt glanced at his younger brother in whose hands held a small envelope._

_Drawing in a shuddering breath, Chris approached the open casket with trembling legs. He looked down into his mother's face, so peaceful and serene. It seemed like she was sleeping and that at any moment her eyes would open and her mouth would smile up at him. _

_He waited for her to laugh up at him and tell him it was all some terrible misunderstanding._

"_Chris," Wyatt whispered urgently. "You okay?"_

_It was such an innocent question. _

_Blinking back his tears, Chris leaned down to press a small kiss to his mother's forehead. His lips touched the cool flesh of his mother's skin and at that instant, he knew and accepted that she was gone._

_His mother had never felt this cold._

_His hands tightened, crumpling the envelope in his hands. He heard the crackle of the paper and looking down, he smoothed out the envelope. Stretching, he reached out and tucked the envelope into the white roses Wyatt had placed on the casket. There was only one word on the envelope…_

Mom.

_He would never be 'okay' again._

* * *

"Hey, Theresa," Bianca greeted the other woman as she cleaned the debris away from the memorial service. "Have you seen, Chris? I was looking for him after the service…but he seems to have disappeared…"

Theresa shook her head, "No, I haven't. He probably just wanted to be alone. He was really close to Sheila, you know. Why?"

"I…he looked so…when he was up there…I just don't think he should be alone," Bianca finished lamely.

Theresa looked up from her task, staring into Bianca's face. Whatever Theresa saw there must have persuaded her for whatever reason to offer, rather hesitantly, "Well – there is this place he goes…sometimes…I saw him once…" Theresa shook her head, remembering, "It was like…he was in agony."

"Where, Theresa?" Bianca prompted. "Where does he go?"

Scant moments later, Bianca was walking briskly through the base. Following Theresa's instructions, she took the winding tunnels as far east as she could go. Coming to a dead end, she glanced around, her eyes lighting with satisfaction as she found the emergency exit she was looking for. Pushing the door open, she checked over her shoulder for anyone following her and then nipped up the stairs.

Ten flights of stairs and much panting later, the staircase ended abruptly on a tiny landing with a ladder leading the rest of the way up. Sighing, she climbed the ladder until reaching the manhole cover. Putting her shoulder to the hatch above, she gave it a quick shove, surprised at the slight resistance it gave her. Peeking out, she blinked rapidly as the setting rays of the sun temporarily blinded her.

Emerging into the light, she took a deep breath of fresh air. After so many days buried in the base and breathing in the recycled air, the air outside tasted almost…sweet. She scanned the surrounding area, taking in the grey skies and scorched earth. A slight movement in her peripheral vision drew her gaze to her left. Here, a small patch of grass still existed, woefully unkempt and overgrown. Dead twigs and branches liberally littered the surface, another sign of the impending winter. The rusted swing set confirmed that a park had once stood there. A single figure sat on a bench, watching the sole intact swing dangle back and forth in the wind. A wooden statue painted in white casted a dark shadow over the bench and its occupant.

It was the first time she had seen Chris alone since she had arrived.

As if in a trance she walked slowly towards him, drawn to his side, carefully picking her way across the grass avoiding the many twigs and branches strewn all around.

_Now…_she thought. _Now is my chance. He's alone. We're alone._

She flicked her wrist, letting the wrist sheath's trick release free her knife. The handle slid easily into her cold, damp palm.

His back was to her.

Her fingers curled around the knife handle.

_You know…you're the first person who didn't say immediately to me that they were sorry. _

_I think…I think I'd like the company._

_Thank you…for listening, for helping me remember Sheila the way she was…and not the way she died…_

She gritted her teeth. She would NOT feel sorry for him. He had killed her mother.

_A life for a life_, she thought fiercely.

Her fist clenched around the knife, her knuckles whitening with the strain.

Clearing her mind of all emotions, she focused herself like she had been trained from birth.

_One more step… _

* * *

"It seems unusually busy on base today. Something going on that we should know about?" DJ asked, following his brother and Les through the crowded halls.

"Yeah," Les debated how much to let the two know before deciding, "a couple of days ago we lost a team on a supply run."

Michael paled. "Damn. How many?"

Hoping they wouldn't run into anyone they knew before reaching Darryl's, Les answered, rather curtly, "Nine."

DJ whistled. "We haven't lost that many scouts at once for…what? Three…four months now?"

"Four," Les nodded, walking briskly and scanning the crowds to potentially head off any one who knew the two brothers. _Damn Darryl for not telling his sons something…We'll be damn lucky if we don't run into someone who knows these guys…just one condolence, and DJ and Michael will have my head for not telling them as soon as I saw them…_

Michael cleared his throat awkwardly, asking in a low voice, "Anyone…anyone we knew?"

Not knowing what to say without revealing too much, Les chose to pretend that he didn't hear Michael's question and switched the topic, "The assassin. You said she was the same one who killed Marcus?"

DJ nodded as the trio turned the corner, nearing his parents' quarters. "Yeah. One half of a mother-daughter team."

Pausing at Darryl's door, Les lifted his hand to knock, glancing back at DJ, "Some family business."

Michael snorted. "Apparently. They're part of this whole family. A whole coven of witch assassins. Phoenixes, Phinks says they call themselves."

Les knocked on Darryl's door, "Phoenixes?"

A muffled voice from inside yelled, "Who is it?"

"It's us, Dad!" DJ yelled, before replying to Les' question, "They're all born with a birthmark apparently. Of a Phoenix. That's how they got the name."

"Hold on!" Darryl's voice carried through the heavy steel door and the sounds of the door lock being unlocked.

Les stared at DJ. "A birthmark…"

The pieces of the puzzle began to slowly fall into place.

_He noticed a flash of black under her sleeve. "Is that a tattoo?"_

"_A little something from my wild days at college, I'm afraid."_

"Les?" DJ queried, noticing the strange look on Les' face. "What is it?"

_One half of a mother-daughter team…_

_"Where is your mother now?" _

_Bianca looked away, "She's dead. She was killed."_

Without a word, Les turned, tearing back down the hallway, praying for all he was worth.

_Shit! _

* * *

His eyes were closed; letting the good memories flow over him and wash away his heartache.

"You may not want a party, but by God, you're going to enjoy it if I have to force you to have a good time."

"_Honestly! You guys are hopeless!" Sheila had exclaimed. Her mock glare had made Chris smile involuntarily._

"_What am I going to do with you?"_

He smiled to himself, involuntarily.

He recalled their conversation in the mess hall…

_"Chris – granted one half of you is technically angelic, but not even you can live like a monk. Don't think I'm not aware that you haven't had a relationship since this war started,"_

Sheila had never been one to beat around the bush, Chris thought ruefully to himself.

_"Let love into your heart and into your life again, sweetheart. I promise you that you'll be better off for it."_

He frowned.

Was he better off for it? He had loved his mom, his aunts, grandpa…his family. They were all gone.

He had loved Sheila like a mother.

She had left him, too.

Was he really better off?

He didn't feel better.

In fact – he felt…raw.

Unbidden, an image of Bianca appeared in his mind.

_Well, I happen to like cute…_

He blushed slightly. There had been something…a connection. Something he hadn't felt with anyone before. If he let it, he knew it could rapidly develop into something more.

Maybe even something serious.

The question was – would he let it?

Sighing, he dropped his head in his hands.

It was a question better answered another day.

* * *

His back was still to her, giving her the perfect opportunity.

She raised her hand, taking careful aim at Chris.

_The target_, she corrected herself.

She hesitated.

Her foot paused before the final step, hanging in the air in that brief moment when she prepared to _hurl_ the knife at her target.

She felt her pent up rage and grief over her mother's death suddenly flood her senses.

Her foot came down hard on ground.

The knife left her hand.

* * *

Wow, my first cliffhanger! And what – only eight chapters in? Harhar.

To be continued…


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Wow. It wasn't my intent to be mean. Merely to cut off the chapter at a reasonable length (it was running at about 23 pages at one point) and a natural stopping point. Really. Honest.

Thanks to everyone for the feedback. I hope you'll think the update was worth the wait…

**Providence**

**Chapter 9**

_No fate, he told me. No fate but what we make. He loved that line. That stupid, corny line from an old movie made in the twentieth century. To him, it summed up everything that he was trying to do, everything that he was trying to change. I just didn't have the heart to tell him otherwise.  
_from the letters of Darryl Morris to his wife Sheila, written after her death

* * *

Les tore through the base, his thoughts jumbled as he searched through the crowds for Chris both physically and mentally. Telepathy was a tricky thing…it was kind of like placing a phone call. If the person on the other side didn't pick up, they weren't going to hear anything. No matter how 'loud' he called.

He'd already been to Chris' quarters and 'mindsent' to the telepaths in command central. No sign of Chris at either location. He was running out of places to look.

And running out of time.

Even more frustrating, Les couldn't even 'drop' his mental shield for a quick scan – too many people on base to attend the service made it a useless exercise. Spotting one 'voice' in a crowd this large would be harder than looking for a needle in a haystack.

He cursed his luck.

Sweat poured down his face as he burst into the mess hall. It was empty now, save for a couple of people cleaning up the hall.

He was running out of ideas.

_Chris, where the fuck are you? _

"Les?" A woman's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Turning towards the cause of his distraction, Les wheeled in his violently churning emotions. He smiled tightly, recognizing the woman in front of him, "Hey Theresa. Look, I'm kind of in a hurry right now. I'm looking for Chris. Can we catch up later?"

Theresa nodded sympathetically, "Of course. You take care you hear?"

Nodding, Les whirled around to make a quick exit.

"He sure is popular today. Poor boy – I suspect he just wants to be left alone," Theresa sighed, picking up some paper that was littering the ground.

His hand on the door, ready to push it open, Les paused. Turning, he asked slowly, "I'm sorry?"

"Chris," Theresa explained. "You're not the only one who's been looking for him."

Facing Theresa, Les quickly strode forward, firmly grasping her shoulders, "Who? Who else was looking for him, Theresa?"

Theresa looked up at him, her eyes unblinking, surprised at Les' vehemence, "Why, Bianca. She was here earlier. I think she kind of felt sorry for him, you know? She was a bit concerned." Theresa chuckled slightly, "Just between you and me, I think she has a bit of a crush on him."

Stumbling back, Les freed his grip on Theresa's shoulders, "How…how long ago was that?"

Theresa frowned, "About fifteen minutes ago. Maybe twenty. You okay, Les? You're kind of pale."

"Do you know where she went? Where she thought Chris went?" Les asked urgently, ignoring Theresa's question.

"Well – I told her about that place Chris likes to go. You know, when he wants to be alone? I reckon that's where he would have headed after a day like today," Theresa shrugged.

"What place? What place, Theresa?" Les asked, confused. He hadn't known that Chris had a 'place' he liked to go.

"Why, the old playground outside old Mission Hill," Theresa said, surprised that Les didn't know. After all, she was well aware of the friendship between the two. "He goes there sometimes…for peace and quiet."

"Can you tell me where it is? This is really important, Theresa. I have to find Chris," Les demanded, anxiously. "I have to find him, right now."

"Sure," Theresa replied. "Go as far east as you can with tunnel 66. There's an emergency exit at the end of the tunnel that will take you up to the surface. The park is right there."

Grabbing the older woman, Les pressed a quick kiss on her forehead before running off, "Thanks a million, Theresa. I owe you one."

Shaking her head at his antics, Theresa could only watch as the doors of the mess hall swung shut.

"Young people these days. Always rushing off."

* * *

The sound of a branch cracking abruptly jerked Chris from his thoughts.

Whipping his head around, Chris responded instinctively, ducking as something shot past him overhead.

_Thunk! _

Frozen, he stared up at the knife buried in the statue, the handle still quivering.

His instincts suddenly took over and he rolled off the bench coming quickly to his feet to face his enemy.

His mouth dropped open.

"Bianca?"

* * *

"Where is Les hurrying off to?" Darryl asked his sons, motioning them to come inside as he caught the back of Les' retreating figure.

Michael shrugged. "Dunno. He just took off all of a sudden. Should we go after him?"

Darryl shook his head. "No, if he needed us, he would have said something." Gesturing at his sons, he pointed at the chairs at the kitchen table while taking a seat himself. "Take a seat. Tell me how your mission went."

The two brothers sat next to each eyeing their father. DJ sneaked a glance at Michael, who shrugged imperceptibly. Something was…off, but DJ couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Mission was fine. We got a lead on who murdered Marcus."

"Tea?" Darryl asked, rather nervously. DJ shook his head. Regardless, Darryl rose from his seat to put the kettle on. "I'm rather parched myself."

"Sure, I'll have a cup. Dad…" Michael said, hesitantly. "Is something wrong?"

Seemingly focused on ostensibly preparing tea, Darryl kept his back to his sons and avoided eye contact with them, "No. Why do you ask?"

Trading looks with his brother again, DJ leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, "I don't know. You just…you seem distracted. That's all."

Fiddling with the temperature dials on the small oven, Darryl didn't respond. Instead, he asked, "So who murdered Marcus?"

"Assassins. A mother-daughter team, actually. Part of this coven of witches that call themselves Phoenixes," Michael replied, leaning back in his chair. "Apparently they're top of the food chain, according to Phinks."

Darryl nodded absently, "Good, good."

"Huh?" DJ asked in confusion. "What's good?"

Darryl glanced over his shoulder, "Sorry?"

"I said some assassins killed Marcus, and you said 'good.' What's good about that?" DJ explained patiently. "Dad…you sure you're okay?"

Bracing himself against the oven, Darryl shook his head in apology, "I'm sorry. I guess I am a little distracted." As the kettle began to whistle, Darryl flipped off the dial and poured it into the nearby waiting teapot. Picking up the teapot and a couple of cups, he brought the refreshment over to the table. "Damn. I forgot the milk and sugar."

"I got it," DJ motioned his father to remain seating and opened the small fridge to retrieve the milk. "Don't bother getting up."

"Thanks, son." Darryl began to carefully pour the tea into the two mugs. The steam from the hot tea swirled upwards towards the ceiling, evaporating.

Rummaging through the cupboard, DJ frowned, peering into its depths, "You and mom still keep the sugar in the same place? I can't find it."

Cursing, Darryl abruptly put down the teapot as his right hand shook. The hot tea sloshed over the rim of the mug and onto Darryl's left hand which was holding the mug steady.

"Dad!" Michael exclaimed, reaching for his father's hand.

Darryl brushed him off, "I'm fine." As Michael continued to fuss, Darryl repeated, saying brusquely, "I said I'm fine, Michael!"

Staring at his father from the kitchenette, DJ shook his head in disbelief, "Dad. He was just trying to help."

Rubbing his face wearily, Darryl nodded. "I know. I know. I'm sorry, Michael. I don't know what came over me."

"Dad, it's okay," Michael threw a concerned look over Darryl's head at his brother. "I know you didn't mean it."

Forgetting the sugar, DJ came back to the table to take a seat next to his father. "Dad. What's going on?"

"I…I…" Darryl fought to get the words out, his tongue stumbling.

Michael reached out, putting his hand on his father's arm reassuringly, "Dad. Whatever it is. You can tell us."

"There was an…an accident," Darryl spoke slowly, his mouth full of cotton. "With the supply run…"

DJ looked at Michael in confusion, "Yeah. We heard. What about it?"

"Your…she…your mother wanted to help," Darryl whispered.

DJ and Michael stared at their father, stunned. "Wha-? Dad, what are you saying?"

"Your mother…she…she didn't come back," Darryl closed his eyes. "She didn't come back."

* * *

Her foot came down hard on the branch just as the knife left her hand, emitting a loud _CRACK!_

She had missed.

She, who had never in her entire life as an assassin, _ever_ missed a target.

She stared in amazement at the knife buried in the statue, momentarily stunned.

"Bianca?"

Her name on his lips shook her out of her reverie. As her eyes met his wary ones, her training reasserted itself. Snarling, she released her second knife from her other wrist sheath. The knife glittered in the fading sunlight as she slashed at him. Jumping back, he moved away from her, watching her carefully through wide eyes. "Why? Just tell me why, Bianca."

She let her anger flare through her, helping her to remember the reason. She stifled the impulse to stop. "Bastard. You killed my mother."

He shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar," she hissed. "I _know_ you killed her."

He shook his head again. "I've never taken the life of another human being. Demons, yes. And many of them. But never a human – good or evil."

"She was my mother!" Launching herself at him, she sliced the knife in a downwards arc towards his chest. Chris managed to catch a hold of her wrist, grappling with her. Anger fuelled her strength, and the knife inched towards his chest. Twisting her wrist, Chris managed to get her the drop her knife and before she could retrieve it, used his telekinesis to send it flying across out of reach, the knife landing uselessly in the grass.

"I don't want you dead," Chris panted as she broke free.

"And you have such tender concern for me," Bianca sneered, as the two faced off, circling each other. _Why wouldn't he fight back? _

"I _do_ care about you, Bianca. Just like I think you've come to care for me these past few weeks."

She felt a slight twinge and self-hatred flooded through her. She shook her head, focusing on the memory of her mother. "Don't count on it," she jeered. Lashing out with her leg, her foot connected solidly with Chris' stomach. Caught by surprise, he sank to the ground clutching his middle in pain.

At that moment, she felt herself split in half and the half that was the trained assassin…the half that took over her body when completing a mission…the half that completely divorced itself from that other side of herself which experienced feelings…emotions…asserted itself. Strongly.

Coldness settled in all around her, isolating her from the sounds and sights around her. She went to that dark void inside herself, her world narrowing to herself and her target. Straddling him, she curled her fingers into his hair, lifting his head back so that he could see the hatred in her face. Slamming his head into the earth, she said coldly, "You killed my mother. And now I'm going to kill you." She watched dispassionately as his lip split and blood splattered onto the dirt beneath them.

"Bianca, _listen to me_ – ," Throwing her off with a combination of his telekinesis and his own physical efforts, he quickly rolled away from the assassin, pushing himself unsteadily back onto his feet. He winced, his head woozy, "I'm not going to fight you, Bianca."

Landing on the balls of her feet, Bianca whipped around to face her opponent again. "That'll make my job so much more easier."

"I told you, I didn't kill your mother," Chris replied, wearily. "I've never killed another human being, and I don't intend to start now."

Bianca sneered. "More fool you."

"You don't want to do this," Chris started, his eyes carefully assessing her every move.

"What the hell would you know about what I want? You killed my mother, you sick son of a bitch!" Bianca spat, feeling the anger began to bubble to the surface at his patronizing tone. "_What the fuck would you know?_"

"I know what it's like to lose someone close to you. To lose your mother," Chris grimaced. "To be alone in this world, thinking no one else understands what you're going through. What you're feeling."

Letting out a scream of primal rage to block out his words, Bianca threw herself at him again. Together, the two tumbled to the ground. She balled her hand into a fist and smashed it into the side of his head.

He threw up his arms to block her.

Perched above him, she slammed her fists one after the other, letting her anger and rage override everything else.

Override every thought.

Her knuckles were bleeding, the flesh raw.

_Who did he think he was?_

_What did he know about pain?_

_About loss?_

She drew back her fist again, suddenly feeling a rush of emotions overwhelming her. The fury flowed through her veins, boiling her blood. A much safer emotion than that of the grief she was experiencing at the loss of her mother that had yet to leave her.

"_It's not fair. This war…so many lives lost – and for what?"_

"_Your loss will be an open wound in each of our hearts."_

The same grief staring right back at her, like a mirror image.

Compassion…sorrow…

Green eyes filled with understanding blinking up at her.

And the hatred drained away like water, leaving her trembling.

Leaving her numb.

Leaving her exhausted.

Leaving her.

* * *

"Hey!"

Les ignored the angry shout as he shoved his way through the crowds. More people threw dirty glances in his direction as he continued to push forward against the overflowing hallways.

He was beginning to feel panicked, unsure of whether his shortened breathing was a result of the sickening feeling in his stomach or from his efforts to jostle through the packed corridors. Cursing the crowds, Les scanned over the heads of the mob and saw no end to the sea of people moving at a snail's pace in front of him. Out of his peripheral vision, he spotted a less crowded tunnel. Although the detour wasn't the most direct route, the lack of human traffic could work to his advantage and allow him to make up the time. Les veered off to his left, and free of the human obstacles in the less crowded tunnel, he took off at a dead run.

Zigzagging his way through the base, cutting from tunnel to tunnel, Les took the longer, less traveled paths. Whether it was the right decision was moot. Only time would tell. He glanced down at his watch, the minutes passing far too quickly as he covered the entire distance of the base.

He could feel the sweat dampening the back of his shirt, sticking to him. He concentrated on evening his breathing and pushing past the pain. He silently cursed Chris again for choosing such a remote place to observe his grief.

_You had to pick the furthest corner of the base to be 'alone.' You couldn't be 'alone' in your own damn quarters_, Les thought half frustrated, half exasperated. It was easier to concentrate on those feelings, instead of focusing on the burgeoning terror in his gut that was telling him he was going to be too late. Too late to stop Bianca. Too late to save Chris.

Ignoring the burning feeling in his lungs, Les spotted the emergency exit that Theresa had mentioned. Bursting through the door, he came to an abrupt stop as the intimidating sight of a staircase spiralling seemingly unendingly upwards greeted his gaze. Barely pausing to catch his breath, he grabbed onto the handrail, taking the stairs two at a time.

The blood pounded through his veins in rhythm with his leaps as he bounded up the set of steps.

In rhythm with the words that kept drumming through his brain.

_I can't be too late…I can't…._

* * *

Chris threw up his arms to protect his head, but he refused to trade blows with his attacker. Perched above him, she rained down blow after blow on his arms, releasing all her pent up pain and anger on Chris.

_Pain._

He lay on the ground absorbing blow after blow, wondering how much would be enough to divert her rage. He looked up at the tortured young woman, tears streaming from her eyes, running down her face as she screamed and sobbed her frustration. He could hear her pain and loneliness in her wails as she continued to smash her fists into his upper body – much like the pain and loneliness he had first experienced after his mother had died. And the pain and grief he experienced each time another family member was taken from him.

The grief he was experiencing right now with Sheila's death.

It was why he didn't fight back. He knew that he was running the risk that she would indeed succeed in killing him. But he rather believed that she would have to retrieve her knife to do so. He also believed that he had gotten to know the 'true' Bianca these past days. And she wasn't a killer.

Of humans, anyways.

He hoped.

The punches began to slow and her wails subsided into small hiccups. Eventually they ceased. Chris cautiously lowered his arms from their protective position to look into Bianca's face. Rolling away from him, she lay in a fetal position, curling herself into a small, protective ball. Her shoulders shook with silent tears, and only her gasping breaths and Chris' breathing broke the silence between them.

Wiping the back of his mouth with his sleeve, he grimaced as he noticed the blood stain it left as he pulled his sleeve away. _That's going to smart in the morning_, he thought ruefully. He grimaced at the inane thought. Scooting closer to Bianca, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, murmuring, "Bianca."

"She was all I had. And you took her away from me," Bianca accused, tonelessly. "Whatever else that I am, whatever else that I've ever done…it didn't matter. Because she loved me."

"Bianca…"

Whipping her head around, she took in the sight of Chris bruised, battered and bleeding before her. As if the implications of her actions began to sink in, she murmured, "You're hurt."

Chris brushed off her concern. He was more worried about her mental health. "It's nothing."

She stared at him in disbelief, "How can you be so…so concerned? About me? I nearly killed you!"

Chris shrugged. "But you didn't. Bianca…" he replied calmly, reaching for her.

Holding her hands out in front of her like a child warding off a nightmare, she began to back away, "No. No…I can't…I don't…Nothing makes _sense_ anymore!"

And before Chris could stop her, she bolted from him.

Taking a couple of steps forward with the intention of chasing after her, Chris stumbled. The world began to spin and he cursed the pounding pain in his head.

"Chris!"

Les burst out of the manhole, tripping over himself in his haste to reach his friend's side. Not close enough yet to notice that Chris was battered and bleeding, Les shouted as he ran towards Chris, "Where's Bianca? We think she may be a spy!"

Les' voice seemed to be coming from miles away, muted and distorted. Chris opened his mouth, but no sound emerged. Instead he collapsed to the ground, the darkness swirling up to swallow him whole.

_Bianca…_, he thought.

* * *

"Why hasn't he woken up yet?" Les asked fretfully. "He should be awake by now, right?"

They were in the infirmary. Alarmed at Chris' medical state upon finding him, Les had dragged his unconscious friend straight to the whitelighter for healing. Lilah shook her head, "I don't know, Les. He did experience a lot of head trauma though."

"But you healed that," Les pointed out. "Right? So shouldn't he be awake?"

Lilah shrugged. "Maybe it's just his body telling him that it's not ready yet."

"Not ready?" Les started pacing in the small examination room. "What the hell does that mean?" A knocking on the door interrupted before he could continue.

Duncan stuck his head around the door. "Chris okay?"

"He's fine," Les said briskly, walking over to the door. "We think. Well?"

Stepping inside, Duncan spared a glance at the sleeping Chris before focusing his attention back on Les, "No sign of her. We searched her room. All her stuff is still there. She literally must have taken off just before you got to Chris." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a small notebook and handed it to Les. "We did find this though."

Flipping through it, Les glanced up at Duncan grimly, "It looks like she was trying to put together a comprehensive map of the base."

Duncan nodded. "As much as we can figure. I've alerted all scouts to look out for a woman with her description in the tunnels. Chances are she's trying to get back to Wyatt's stronghold. If we're lucky, we might be able to catch her while she's still in the dead zone."

Rubbing his head, Les closed his eyes briefly, "Keep on it. I want to catch her before she has a chance to report _anything_ back to Wyatt."

Heaving a sigh, Duncan shook his head, "You know we might not be able to catch her. She's an assassin, Les. She's skilled and she's deadly. Not a combination that works in our favour right now."

"I don't want to hear it. Just get her."

Hearing the dismissal, Duncan nodded again, "I'll see you back at command?"

Nodding curtly, Les waved Duncan off as he shut the door. Turning back his attention to Lilah and her sleeping patient, "Can't you just wake him up?"

Looking up from her examination, Lilah said through gritted teeth, "No, I cannot just _wake_ him up."

"Look – if we're going to catch the assassin before she makes it back to Wyatt's, I need to know where we stand. And right now, Chris was the last person in her presence," Les pointed out.

"I will not have you endanger Chris' health just because _you_ slipped up!" Lilah glared.

"And what the hell do you mean by that, lady?" Les glared back, angry more because her words of recrimination matched his own feelings than because of her actual accusation.

"Oh please," Lilah scoffed. "Who's in charge of watching Chris' back? Of assessing potential dangers to him? You're supposed to watch out for him, Les. And instead, you let a pretty face fool you. What kind of telepath _are_ you?"

"Now you just hang on a darn minute, you freaking –," Les began heatedly.

"Good God. What the hell are you both shouting about?" Chris groaned, gripping his head. "With the way my head feels right now, it'd better be a matter of life or death or I'm going to be incredibly pissed off."

Startled, the two snapped their mouths shut in surprise, effectively cutting off their argument.

"Actually – it was a matter of life or death," Les responded dryly, the first to recover from the sight of Chris pushing himself into a sitting position. "Yours, as a matter of fact."

"Not funny," Chris glared at Les through slitted eyes, holding his head tenderly.

Quickly moving to Chris' side, Lilah gently placed her hand over his, "How are you feeling?"

"Like I did ten rounds with Mohammad Ali," Chris replied, a little groggy. He winced at the fluorescent lights. "Can someone turn down the lights? I think I'm getting a headache."

Les quickly strode over to the switch to dim the lights as Lilah's hand gave off a gentle golden glow. Murmuring over Chris, she asked, "Any better?"

Chris nodded tiredly, "Much. Not as tender. Thanks."

"It'll be a couple of days before you fully recover," Lilah warned. "There's only so much healing I can do. You're to take it easy, okay?"

At Chris' nod, Les turned his attention back to Lilah, "Can he answer a couple of questions now?"

Before Lilah could respond, Chris interrupted, "_He_ can," referring to himself.

Leslie eyed his friend. Chris' face was still paper white, but at least the bruises, cuts and swelling had disappeared. "How much do you remember of what happened?"

"You mean Bianca trying to kill me?" Chris asked, softly.

Lilah grimaced, "So it's true? She really was a spy?"

"What did you think she was? The next door neighbour?" Les jeered.

Lilah shrugged, "I had hoped –,"

"Weren't you the one that just accused me of getting taken in by a pretty face?" Les accused in disbelief.

"Well, I…" Lilah started.

"Enough!" Chris held up his hand. "Please, no yelling. My head is killing me. You can yell at each other later, when I'm not around. Okay?"

Shamefacedly, Lilah nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry, Chris. It's just…what are we going to do about Bianca?"

"We'll figure that out once we catch her," Les shrugged. Turning to Chris, he explained, "I've got Duncan leading the search in the tunnels for her and a team scouring the ground above. I want to get her. Get her before she has a chance to report back to Wyatt all that she's learned."

Chris shook his head, "No."

"Sorry?" Les asked, confused.

"Call back the teams," Chris elaborated. "We can't pull them off patrol just to chase down one person. Our defenses are full of holes as it is. It leaves us open to attack. Pull everyone off that search. Now."

Les stared at Chris, whose head was bowed, avoiding eye contact. Shooting a glance at Lilah, he jerked his head at the door, "Do you mind giving us some privacy?"

Nodding serenely, Lilah glanced at Chris who was still staring at his shoes, "I've got some things I've got to take of, anyways. Chris – you come see me if you feel the slightest bit off, all right?"

Chris nodded. "Thanks Lilah."

Les waited for the door to shut before folding his arms, asking Chris, "You mind explaining?"

Chris' left shoulder lifted in a semblance of a half-hearted shrug, "Explain what?"

"Cut the bullshit. This is me you're talking to, Chris. Your friend, remember?" Les quirked an eyebrow at his young friend.

Reluctantly lifting his gaze from the floor, Chris met Les' sympathetic gaze, flinching, "It's a tactical decision. Nothing else."

Les shook his head. "Not good enough, Chris."

"What do you want from me?" Chris asked frustrated.

"Tell me what happened. Tell me why you're willing to let the woman who tried to kill you go, the woman who could potentially feed Wyatt all sorts of information on the Resistance," Les demanded, evenly.

"There's nothing to tell. She tried to kill me. She stopped herself and then she ran off," Chris replied with another shrug.

Knowing Chris as he did, Les knew the deliberate casual tone meant Chris was feeling anything but. Suspicious, Les pushed, "Fine. So she didn't kill you when she had the chance. But she's still a spy. And she could still tell Wyatt stuff I'd rather he didn't know about us."

Chris heaved a sigh. "I really don't think she would."

"And you think this because?" Les prodded.

"I don't know, Les!" Chris bit back. "She could have killed me back there. But she didn't. It's just a feeling I have. I…when we were fighting…there was this look in her eyes…"

Feeling the ten years difference between them more than ever, Les sighed, feeling old and cynical. "Look, Chris. I get that you kind of dig her. And that it seemed she kind of digged you. But she was playing you, Chris. Just like she played all of us."

"She won't tell Wyatt anything," Chris said, stubbornly. "I know she won't."

"I'm sorry, Chris. But you're not thinking clearly about this," Les stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'm not calling Duncan off the search. I'm not calling _any_ of them off."

Chris glared up angrily at his friend, "Just who the hell is the leader here?"

"You are," Les replied evenly. "So don't make me counter you in front of everyone. And I will. If you try to call the search off."

Chris shot Les a dirty look, "I'm the leader. They'll listen to me."

Les shrugged, "Yeah, they will. And they'll also listen to me explain how you're being swayed by pretty face and a hot body…"

"That's disgusting," Chris replied, unconsciously clenching his right hand into a fist.

"You can't see it right now but I'm just doing this for your own good," Les said loftily. Seeing Chris' growing anger, he sighed. "Look, kid. I'm your _friend_. I'm just looking out for you."

Silence.

"And what are you planning to do if we _do _catch her?" Chris wanted to know.

Les rubbed the back of his neck, agitated. "I'm not sure yet. I haven't quite figured that part out yet, okay?"

"Well maybe you should have before you gave the order to hunt her down like a dog!" Chris glared.

"Hey! She's a _spy_, Chris! I'm not the bad guy here. All I know is we can't let her tell Wyatt what she's found out here. End of story."

Chris shook his head vehemently. "No, not end of story. Say you do catch her. What – we're going to keep her here, against her will? Lock her up in some room? Maybe throw her some bread and water every once and awhile?"

Les threw Chris a frustrated look as he began to pace back and forth, "I said I don't know."

"Well you better know! Are we going to be judge, jury and executioner now?" Chris demanded.

"How the hell would I know? We'll cross that bridge when we get there, okay?"

"No. No, it's NOT okay. She's still a human being, Les…No matter what else – she's still one of us at the end of the day," Chris argued.

"Don't you think I know that? Do you think I _want_ this?" Les replied, perturbed. "I've been wondering the exact same things while you were lying there unconscious. All I do know is that we have a duty. A duty to the people who live on this base, Chris."

Stalemate.

Interpreting Chris' silence for acceptance, Les faced his friend, "Look – whatever happens…we need to think of the bigger picture, okay? We need to think about all the people that count on us to keep them safe. Safe from Wyatt."

Sensing Chris' wavering, Les reached out to place his hand on Chris' shoulder, "Are we okay?"

Rubbing at his eye, Chris weighed his options, before sighing, defeated. "We're okay. I don't agree with you, but…we're okay."

"Good," Les breathed in relief. "Come on, then. Let's get to the command centre. I'm sure everyone is up in arms and would love to see you."

Chris nodded. "I'll be right out. Give me a minute, okay?"

Les nodded, exiting. "All right. I'll be waiting."

The door closed.

Looking into the mirror hanging on the back of the door, Chris stared at his reflection. He grimaced at the sight of his blood stained dress shirt. There would be no recovering it. Looking around for his jacket, he spotted it hanging over the back of one of the chairs in the room. Retrieving it, he shrugged the formal wear back on, buttoning the blazer to cover up his soiled clothing.

_"You killed my mother…" _

She had sounded so certain. He looked at his reflection, his green eyes dark with doubt...

_Did I? _

* * *

To be continued….Nothing like a good ass kicking to induce romantic feelings in one another, eh? Hey, I never said it would be smooth sailing for these two. 


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thanks go to Andrea4, chattypandagurl, IcantthinkofaFnick, Shadow Dark Night, Sparkling Cherries, Zeria, charmedtomeetyou, ilovedrew88, FlowerGrl, misscharmed, darcy101, Midnight murderer, cherrygirl1987, girl-with-the-green-eyes. Your reviews provide me the much needed energy to push on with this story and reassure me that there are people out there who actually read the drabble I post.

**Providence**

**Chapter 10**

_Family bonds, she said. Unbreakable and undeniable. Ever since I could remember, my mother had reinforced the idea that family came first and everything and anything else came, at best, a distant second. Growing up, my brother and I dutifully acknowledged my mother's words of wisdom; looking out for each other became second nature, concern for each other automatic. I wonder what she would think of our familial bonds now?  
_– From the journals of Chris Halliwell

* * *

She shivered, unsure whether it was the crispness of the night air or fear that created the chill running down her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

_What now? I can't go back _there_ – even if they don't kill me, they certainly won't welcome me. And I can't go back to Wyatt. I failed. Assassins don't fail._

_So what now?_

She pushed the question out of her mind. She would worry about that later. Later when she had time to think. Right now she had to concentrate on clearing the 'dead zone' so that she could use her shimmering ability once again.

_Funny that_, she thought. _I never did quite figure out how they got that no orbing spell to work._

The sun had set, the evening dusk quickly turning into night, allowing Bianca to cloak her movements in the darkness. Without her knives, she was a dead duck – good thing she still had that dagger in her boot. _But I'd have to get real close to someone to use it, and I really don't think I want it to come to that._

Luckily the moon gave off enough light for her to make her way. It was one of the reasons she had chosen to stay above ground rather than retreating back into the tunnels. Above ground gave her more options; she could cut a more direct path away from the base and the open space gave her a better chance of seeing her pursuers, should they catch up to her.

_Too bad it doesn't give me many places to hide_, she thought ruefully, as she scanned the fairly flat terrain. Located on the edges of the city, there weren't any developments, not even ones destroyed in the war. This particular area she was crossing had never been developed and was free from the dullness of surburban replicas. _I guess beggars can't be choosers…_

The eerie silence of the night was broken only by the occasional cricket chirp or coo from the night owls. But just because she didn't hear anything, didn't mean that her pursuers weren't out there. She had no illusions – she had just tried to assassinate the highest ranking member of the Resistance; only an idiot wouldn't send an army after her.

_Or a fool_, she thought uncharitably. And if there was one thing she had learned about Chris these past weeks…he certainly wasn't a fool.

She still couldn't believe she had missed.

She _never_ missed.

He had killed her mother.

He was the only thing standing between her and currying favour with Wyatt.

A chance for her to be someone…important.

All good reasons.

So then why hadn't she taken his life when she had the chance? Why had she let him go?

Her mind flew over the past few hours, recalling every detail, every action. She analyzed the situation as dispassionately as possible, as she had been taught to do after every mission. She replayed the scenes in her head, over and over, trying to determine what had happened…what she'd done wrong…why she had failed.

It wasn't something that she'd ever had to do before.

She could see everything play out in her head in slow motion, like a movie. The knife leaving her hand…her foot cracking the branch beneath...the vicious fight after. And not once had he struck back. Not once had he harmed her.

His green eyes…when he had looked upon her…not with hatred or fear as she was used to…but with…sympathy.

Understanding.

Disappointment.

In her.

As if she had somehow let _him_ down.

_If anyone's a fool, it's me_, she thought unhappily. _I've got nothing but the clothes on my back. I've got nowhere to go…all because I had to suffer a crisis of conscience._

Her stomach dropped.

She could feel the sudden lift of the no orbing/shimmering spell. Obviously, she'd cleared the dead zone.

_So what now?_

She sighed silently. She was going to have to make a decision.

She could go back to Wyatt's…throw herself at his mercy and hope that the information she'd gather on the Resistance's base would make him forget that the target still lived. Hope that the information would expose all the Resistance's weaknesses. And leave it, and all its inhabitants, open to attack.

Or she could shimmer away as far as possible and hope that Wyatt's reach wouldn't extend _that_ far. And that by the time he realized she had failed her mission and wasn't ever coming back that it wouldn't be worth his effort to go after her.

Her conscience cringed again at the first option.

Her body shook with fear at the second.

_"You're a Phoenix, Bianca," her mother had said. "You're a part of an elite coven of assassin trained witches. Don't be afraid…never be afraid. They should be afraid of you."_

_Mom was right. I'm a Phoenix_, she thought fiercely. _And I'm not afraid._

She made her decision.

She shimmered out.

Back to Wyatt's.

* * *

He absently gazed out the window on his left, taking in the landscape.

San Francisco was a smoldering wasteland; the once green parks and cosmopolitan skyline replaced by smoking craters and burnt out husks of steel structures were all that were left.

Magic was no longer his duty to protect but to exploit. The so-called powerful Elders had fled in terror, retreating into the underground; ironically hiding in the shadows and tunnels underneath the earth much like the very demons they despised once did. Demons, warlocks and other evil creatures bowed down to his rule.

He was…in all aspects…powerful.

At least…on the surface.

His brother still roamed free, thwarting him at every turn. A thorn in his side, Chris nipped at his heels with his foolish Resistance…challenging him…annoying him..._defying_ him.

His eyes narrowed. _No longer. Soon…soon I will crush the Resistance. And remind Chris why _I_ am the 'twice-blessed!'_

He returned his focus to the matter at hand, the demon standing before him.

"What do you mean, she hasn't checked in yet?" Wyatt growled, feeling his distemper rise. "How long could it possibly take an assassin to gather information and then kill the target?"

He was surrounded by fools.

If he was afraid of the 'twice-blessed', Zankou's face certainly did not betray it. Smoothly, he replied, "Perhaps she encountered some difficulties in completing her mission."

"Bah," Wyatt spat, disgusted. "What kind of difficulties could she possibly have encountered?"

Zankou's shoulder lifted in semblance of a slight shrug, "I would not know. I was merely trying to offer a plausible explanation for her…delay."

Wyatt's clenched fist came down hard on the arm of the chair he was lounging in. "Damn it! I finally get someone to infiltrate that…that bunch of _infidels_ and hear nothing for weeks!" Glaring angrily at his second in command, "This is unacceptable, Zankou!"

"It would have been too risky to demand that she check in with us on regular intervals," Zankou pointed out. "The risk of detection would have increased tenfold."

"Excuses," Wyatt shifted in his seat, restless. "I want the Resistance eliminated. Destroyed. Terminated. And I want it done _now_."

"What would you have me do?" Zankou asked, his eyebrow lifting sardonically. "I cannot get in touch with her. We don't even know where the base is located."

Wyatt snorted. "We may not know the exact location, but I can make a fairly good guess. Why do you think I've had those demons running forays into our northern border?"

Comprehension dawned, as Zankou thought out loud, "You think that the humans we encountered in that area are part of the Resistance?"

"Walk with me," Wyatt commanded, abruptly rising from his sitting position to cross the room. Exiting, Wyatt waved off the two demon guards posted outside from following him. "Stay here. I have no need of you."

Striding down the hall, he didn't look behind him to see if Zankou was following him. "Of course. Why else would so many humans be concentrated in that area. Something is there…and I intend to find out. Give the order to move into that region. I want it under my control."

"As you wish," Zankou murmured, hurrying after Wyatt. "Is there anything else, my lord?"

Wyatt turned the corner, heading in the direction of his private rooms. "This situation is intolerable. I cannot have mere _mortals_ defying my rule. Once my brother is out of the way, we can begin phase two."

Following behind Wyatt at a discrete distance, Zankou nodded in agreement, "Of course. Once the assassin has checked in, we will have a better idea of what we are dealing with in terms of the Resistance."

"For your sake, she had best check in soon," Wyatt growled threateningly.

"What if she failed? What if she doesn't manage to eliminate her target? After all, her mother failed you." Zankou questioned. "She could have been caught, which would explain why she has failed to check in."

Abruptly coming to a halt, Wyatt whirled onto his henchman, "Then unlike her mother, she had best not return to beg for mercy or I will eliminate _her_ like I did the pathetic failure of her mother." Before Zankou could utter a word, Wyatt whipped around and continued his stalk down the darkened hall. "Twenty four hours. If she is not back by then, we will commence without her. I'll be in my rooms. Do _not_ disturb me."

Zankou watched as the twice blessed disappeared around the corner, before shaking himself off. Pushing the questionable fate of the assassin out of his mind, he left the hall to carry out his orders.

Neither noticed the figure emerging from the shadows into the now deserted hall.

* * *

"Look, old man –," Ben was saying rather heatedly to Odin.

As the shouting match began to escalate, Les rubbed his temple wearily. The Council meeting was currently being held in the command centre. Feeling like a referee at a soccer game, Les tried to mediate between the two rather opinionated members of their group. "Hold on a sec, Ben. Odin may have a point…"

Neither listened to him. Insults were hurled back and forth, low and dirty and completely indiscriminate. Lilah was gaping in shock at some of the choice wording and Riley actually seemed to be amused by the foul language. _A mud wrestling match would be a heck of lot cleaner_, Les grimaced. _How did I let Chris talk me into taking Darryl's place?_

It never ceased to amaze him that the telepaths at the communications array could block out all the noise the Council members made. _Then again, maybe they just wisely choose to pretend that they don't hear anything_, Les mused.

A door opened. Emerging from one of the meeting rooms, Chris was nodding at something Duncan was saying. Leslie watched with interest as Chris shook his head empathetically before giving Duncan a pat on the shoulder. Giving Chris the 'thumbs up' sign, Duncan turned and swiftly left the command centre. As Chris turned to head back into the small meeting room, his eyes met Les' across the crowded space. Ignoring Les' questioning look, he moved to retreat back into the room when a cry of alarm froze everyone in place.

"Holy shit!" One of the telepaths sitting at the communications table gasped, clutching his head.

"Quiet everyone!" Riley roared, banging his fist on the table so that the telepath could be heard over the commotion.

Les recognized the telepath as Jack, "What is it? What's the matter?"

"Incoming message from the south border! Demons are attacking…" He paled, relaying the communication, "They're overrunning the outpost in sector seven!"

"Wasn't that the area you were looking at a couple of weeks ago? The one where you said there seemed to be an inordinate amount of demon activity?" Les asked Chris, recalling the time he'd interrupted Chris' analysis of the scout reports. "You were looking at scout reports…"

_Chris had been studying a map of the city when he had asked, "What do those little triangle thingys mean?"_

_"Ten or more demons spotted. Our scouts have been spotting demons all over the place. I want to know if they're concentrating in any particular area," Chris replied wearily. "I think Wyatt's starting to get more suspicious. See the number of demons that were spotted here?" Stabbing his pen at a cluster of blue triangles on the map, "Five of these sightings were in the last three weeks."_

"_What do you think it means?"_

"_I don't know. But they're stationed damned close to our border post for me to feel comfortable. I just don't like it…Remind me to pass this off to Darryl tomorrow. He might have better luck trying to figure it out."_

Chris looked away. "Yeah."

"So what's the contingency plan?" Les prodded, wondering why Chris wasn't volunteering the information.

"I…I didn't…there is no contingency plan," Chris said finally. His eyes met Les', dark with self- recrimination, "I didn't have time to finish my analyses yet."

Swallowing, he asked, "Who's in the vicinity? Isn't that Slick's area?", quickly moving to the side of the telepath.

His eyes slightly unfocused, Jack clutched the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening, "They're too far away to reach the outpost in time…Quentin says they're outnumbered ten to one. They can't hold on."

"Tell them to fall back," Chris rushed over to one of the nearby maps pinned up against the opposite wall. Tracing his finger along the paper, he stabbed at a marker on the map, "Tell them to pull back to the alpha quadrant."

Nodding, Jack bit his lip as he 'sent' the message to his counterpart.

"Chris…" Les moved to stand next to his friend. "I know that area…there's a supplies depot in that outpost."

"Jack – ask Quentin if they have time to salvage any of the supplies," Chris ordered over his shoulder. Looking at Les, Chris asked quietly, "What kind of supplies are we talking about?"

"Food. Water. They just finished a major supplies run two days ago. Delivery was suppose to happen tomorrow. I have a team ready to leave tonight for retrieval," Les shook his head at Chris gravely, "We're talking important supplies, Chris. Supplies we can't afford to lose."

Jack interjected. "Quentin says it's too late…he can't hold on to anything. Even if they try to take stuff with them…it'd slow them down too much. They can't do anything. At least, not without sustaining major casualties."

"How long does Slick think it'll take his team to get to Quentin?" Chris asked.

Jack shook his head, "Two hours. Quentin says it's not soon enough. He can hold – but its pretty much suicide."

"Chris –," Leslie gripped Chris' arm, "we _need_ those supplies." He could see the calculations running through Chris' mind as his friend's facial expression seemed to harden. Les cringed, knowing that Chris was coldly deciding whether the supplies outweighed the loss of human life. In a way, even though Les knew he himself was providing Chris the very advice that would lead to more deaths, he felt…isolated…from the effects of the decision. As if by not vocalizing what had to be done, what order needed to be given…he could pretend that it wasn't real. That he wasn't asking Chris to send their friends and family to their deaths.

That their lives weren't as important as the supplies they guarded.

Chris was the leader and it was his responsibility to give the orders.

Odin, who had been listening intently, nodded firmly, "I agree. Tell them to hold the post. Those supplies are the most important factor here."

Chris paused, weighing his options. Turning his cold stare at Jack who was watching him nervously, Chris bit out, "Tell him to burn it. Burn everything."

"Are you nuts?" Odin grabbed Chris' shoulder in protest. "Didn't you hear a word I said? We need those supplies – no matter the cost!"

Chris replied harshly, "I heard you. But we need those _fighters_ more than we need those supplies. What the hell use will those supplies be if we can't hold our borders?"

"But burning the supplies we do have?" Ben's voice was doubtful. "How can we do that?"

"Do you want the demons to get their hands on it instead?" Chris rounded sharply on Ben. "They need to feed just as much as we do. And I for one intend to make it as difficult as possible for them to digest."

Reluctantly, Odin released his grip on Chris' shoulder, hissing, "This is on your head."

Straightening his sleeve, Chris responded coolly, "Isn't it always? We finished here?" Without waiting for a response, he then turned to Jack, "Well?"

Jack's eyes focused once again as he surfaced from his light trance, "Quentin's burning everything. He'll lock down all entrances to the tunnels. The fires should keep the demons away for at least a few days."

"Good," Chris turned his attention back to the map, "tell them to hold position at the quad and get Slick's team to meet them there to hold down the fort."

Jack nodded, dropping into a light trance once again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Les could see Odin mutter to himself before leaving the room in a huff.

"I guess the meeting's been adjourned for today," Ben said wryly, to no one in particular. Shaking his head, he and the other Council members left the command room.

Silence.

Jack cleared his throat, "I know…I know it wasn't the most logical action to take…and I know we need those supplies…but…I thank you. My brother's stationed at that outpost."

Chris nodded, patting Jack on the shoulder. His eyes turned towards Les, who stared back at him in question. Les jerked his head in the direction of the small meeting room, the two friends left the command area for more privacy.

Closing the door behind them, Les studied his friend solemnly, "We needed those supplies, Chris. We can't win this war if we don't have supplies."

His back towards Les, Chris sighed. "I know."

"We're not going to make it, Chris. We need water. We need food. Things are reaching a crisis point," Les reminded his friend.

"I know."

"So tell me you have a plan. Tell me you've got some brilliant idea that came to you in the night. Because losing those supplies could cripple us," Les asked desperately. "It could be the difference between winning and losing this war."

"No plan. Just keep doing what we're doing," Chris replied, tonelessly.

Les gaped at Chris' back in disbelief. Finding his voice, Leslie said angrily, "What the fuck is your problem? You just ordered a ton of supplies to be burned to a crisp that we _needed_, and all you can say is 'keep doing what we're doing? Where is your head, Chris?"

Chris turned around slowly to face his friend, his posture defensive, "And what exactly do you think my problem is?"

Anger and aggravation tore through Les, his words emerging from his mouth in a burst of frustration, "I think your little infatuation with Bianca has clouded your judgment. Okay…so she was hot. So she betrayed you and everyone else here. And now your head is so screwed up, you don't trust yourself to make the right decisions. Well – here's a bit of advice. _Get over it!_"

"Is that what it is? Is that what you think drove my decision back there?" Chris responded icily.

"I don't know…why don't you tell me?" Les shot back.

"I weighed everything in my head. The value of those supplies and the value of those men. And I had to make a split second decision. And _I_ made it," Chris replied, his tone deadly. "So fuck you."

The two friends stared at each other across the desk, each trying to read the other. Finally, Les backed down. "I just…we need you, Chris. This war…we're not winning. We're barely holding our own. And I hate to put more pressure on you but…sometimes we have to take the acceptable losses. We have to…make the hard decisions."

"Don't you mean me?" Chris said, bitterly.

Les shrugged, not unsympathetic. "If the shoe fits."

"Well, this shoe sucks," Chris glared. Crossing his arms defensively, "I know what I'm doing, Les. I weighed the pros and cons. It was the…right…decision, at the time."

"All right. I just hope you know what you're doing," Les sighed. "Because I don't think we're going to last much longer the way things are going."

"I know," Chris replied, his voice sounding faraway. "I'm working on it."

"Huh?" Les asked, puzzled, "What exactly are you working on?"

Chris shook his head. "Never mind. Look, I need you to get a team out there…see if there's anything that can be salvaged. Slick and Quentin are going to need a hand," Chris said softly, his eyes focused on the map of San Francisco hanging on the wall.

"Chris –," Les said, hesitantly. "I really don't think they're going to need another team out there."

Chris' shoulders sagged just a bit, before he straightened them again, "Just go, okay? And get back here by tomorrow evening."

Opening his mouth to argue, Les could see the resolution in Chris' eyes. _What the heck?_, he thought to himself. _It's not like it would do any harm. And maybe putting some breathing space between me and Chris is a good idea right now. We've been arguing a hell of a lot, lately._ "All right. I'll go ahead with the original plan to move out tonight."

"Thanks."

Les nodded, shutting the meeting room door behind him, leaving Chris behind.

_I just hope you know what you're doing, kid._

* * *

She peered around the corner, surveying the darkened hall.

It was empty.

The lights from the torches cast a dim light alongside the wall, allowing her to move cautiously forward, hiding herself in the darkness of the flickering shadows.

She had wanted to shimmer in directly to the room she had formerly shared with her mother, but who knew what had become of it since she had left over a month ago? Being foolhardy was not in her training; instead, she shimmered in as close as possible, picking a well-hidden alcove in another less travelled hall before making her way here.

Glancing over her shoulder, Bianca carefully approached the door to her room. The last thing she wanted was to get caught by one of Wyatt's henchmen.

All because she had to suffer a crisis of conscience.

There was something about the Resistance…_about Chris_, her mind whispered, that deserved her…respect. She had never been comfortable with Wyatt's power hungry snatch and grab, but she had accepted it. Certainly it had never really occurred to her the consequences of his actions on others. As a Phoenix, she thought she was immune to that sort of morality. But as she quickly discovered during her short time with the people in the Resistance, she wasn't. Like an infection, their values and morals seemed to spread unchecked through her blood, causing her endless arguments with her conscience and forcing her to question her motives. She wasn't convinced that she was _good_ per se, but she did know that she couldn't give them up to Wyatt.

No matter the personal cost.

That being said, she hadn't survived for so long as an assassin by being stupid. She knew she needed to put as much distance as possible between her and Wyatt before he discovered her betrayal. But she wasn't an idiot – she knew she couldn't just run off into the unknown…she needed supplies. And she couldn't go back to the Resistance – that was for certain – they had no reason to believe that she hadn't betrayed them to Wyatt. No, the only solution was to slip back to Wyatt's stronghold, gather as much of her stuff as possible, load up on supplies, and hightail it out of there before none were the wiser.

_Piece of cake_, Bianca thought, sardonically. _What does uncle Cyrus always say? Nothing like a good challenge to get the blood running…_

Throwing another searching glance over her shoulder, she hastily approached the door to her room, fumbling with the doorknob. Cursing silently, she quickly realized that the door was still locked. Patting herself down, she cursed her luck again, as the image of the key safely tucked away in the dresser at her room in the Resistance's base formed in her mind. Standing back, she looked up and down the hall, and confirming that she was alone, she raised her leg, ready to kick the door in.

Voices drifted from around the corner.

A man's voice, "…is out of the way, we can begin phase two."

_Phase two?_, Bianca thought, her foot poised in the air. Hearing the approaching footsteps, she frantically looked for a hiding spot. Eyeing an especially dark corner, she ducked into the shadows, praying that the light from the torches would be dim enough to provide enough cover.

Another voice, slightly muffled, "Of course. Once the assassin has checked in, we will have a better idea of what we are dealing with in terms of the Resistance."

_That's Zankou's voice_, Bianca recognized. T_he assassin he's referring to must be myself._

Her eyes adjusting to the darkness, she felt her heart freeze in fear as Wyatt himself turned the corner. Flattening herself against the wall, she held her breath.

"For your sake, she had best check in soon," Wyatt growled threateningly.

"What if she failed? What if she doesn't manage to eliminate her target? After all, her mother failed you," Zankou questioned. "She could have been caught, which would explain why she has failed to check in. What then?"

Abruptly coming to a halt, Wyatt whirled onto his henchman, "Then unlike her mother, she had best not return to beg for mercy or I will eliminate _her_ like I did the pathetic failure of her mother." Before Zankou could utter another word, Wyatt whipped around and continued his stalk down the darkened hall. "Twenty four hours. If she is not back by then, we will commence without her. I'll be in my rooms. Do _not_ disturb me."

And with that, Wyatt disappeared around another corner and Zankou retreated back from the direction they had come.

And Bianca slowly exhaled, trembling.

But not with fear.

With anger.

_Bastard._

* * *

Things were boiling to a crisis point. Les had left with the team a few hours earlier, hoping against hope that _some_ of the supplies would be salvageable.

What had Les said?

_We're not going to make it, Chris. We need water. We need food. Things are reaching a crisis point. _

_Tell me you've got some brilliant idea that came to you in the night. Because losing those supplies could cripple us._

He lowered his head into his hands, his eyes closed and breathed deeply.

It was all his fault.

If only he had finished analyzing those scout reports.

The mission to Berkley had popped up, and he _had_ to lead that team. And then there had been the reconstruction of the bridge outside the train station…and then…Sheila had died…

_You're going to have to start delegating, Chris. You don't have _time_ to carry out these missions yourself all the time. Other things are going to start to suffer._

And now Quentin's team was screwed because he hadn't found the time.

_If only I had listened to you sooner, Sheila_, Chris thought. Now because he hadn't, others were going to pay the price.

He was tired.

Sitting on his bed, he sat for a long time. Thinking. Pondering. Weighing.

He had come to the realization days ago. There _was_ no going back now. That was clear. It was time to accept the inevitable.

And it was time to stop procrastinating.

Standing up, he reached under his bed, pulling out his well-worn duffel bag and dumping it onto his bed. Rummaging through his drawers he pulled out some clothes and other odds and ends, throwing them over his shoulder, hoping they'd land somewhere near the vicinity of the travel bag. Closing the drawer shut, he moved towards a metal cabinet, yanking the door open so hard that it banged against the wall as he flung it open. He hastily tossed a couple of vanquishing potions in the direction of the duffel bag. As tall as he was, Chris still couldn't easily reach the back of the top shelf. Stretching, he reached into the back of the top shelf, his hand blindly feeling for the object he sought. The cold feel of steel met his fingertips, and he inched the metal object towards him, listening to it scrap along the bottom of the shelf. As soon as it was within sight, his fist closed around the handle and brought it down. He stared down at the weapon in his hand.

A dagger, sheathed in leather. An athame, to be exact.

He slowly pulled the athame from its sheath, turning the dagger over in his hand, studying the way the light reflected off the cold steel.

_We need you, Chris. This war…we're not winning. We're barely holding our own. And I hate to put more pressure on you but…sometimes we have to take the acceptable losses. We have to…make the hard decisions._

It was time to make the hard decision.

It was time to take a stand.

_Can I really do this?_ Chris wondered. _Can I really take a human life? If I don't, how many more lives will be lost?_

Les had been right.

It was his responsibility…his duty…his burden.

_Earlier… _

_A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Looking up from the notepad where he was busily scribbling notes, Chris called out, "Enter!"_

_Duncan stuck his head around the door, "Hey, Chris. Got that stuff you were asking for earlier…" He entered the room, a bunch of rolled up papers beneath his left arm._

_Chris quickly cleared off the desk, making room for Duncan to spread the rolls of papers onto the surface, "Good work. This is exactly what I was looking for…"_

_The architectural blueprints outlined the layout of a multi-storied office building. It looked like any run of the mill office tower. Except this tower was Wyatt's stronghold._

_Duncan smoothed out the edges with his hands, leaning over the desk to get a better look, "We were real lucky to find these plans amongst those maps you brought back on the last mission. The only thing is these are pretty old. There may have been renovations or other structural changes that aren't captured here."_

"_It's better than nothing," Chris stroked his chin carefully, making a couple of notes on the plans with his pencil. Tilting his head, he pointed at something at the edge of the blueprint. "This look like a maintenance tunnel to you?"_

_Duncan veered his head in the same direction as Chris'. "Maybe."_

_Chris nodded to himself. "This could work. This could bloody work."_

_Looking across at Chris, Duncan finally asked the question he'd been wanting to voice since Chris had asked him to find any and all information on Wyatt's stronghold, "So what gives? This place is locked down, Chris. Do you really think we have a chance on taking it?" _

"_Yeah. Yeah I do," Chris said, a little distractedly._

_Duncan looked doubtful. "That place is solid. And they outnumber us. It'd be suicide."_

_Chris glanced up, seeing the uncertainty in Duncan's face. "Not if we do the unexpected. Not if we do something he'd never suspect."_

_Duncan stared at Chris, uncomprehending. "I don't get it. That place is like a fortress. There's no way we could ever plan any sort of tactical manoeuvre that he isn't guarded against. He's thought of everything."_

"_You're not looking past the obvious, Duncan." Chris paused, before continuing, "Wyatt expects a full on attack. That's why he's so heavily fortified here, here and here." Chris pointed with his fingers at the entrances on the blueprint. "The question you should ask yourself is, why isn't he guarding this area more heavily?"_

_Duncan craned his neck to look at the point on the blueprint Chris was stabbing with his finger. "That's the maintenance tunnel. It's maybe six feet by three feet, if you're lucky. You can't fit an army in there. There's no point in guarding that access point too heavily…"_

"_Exactly," Chris' tone held a note of satisfaction. "Wyatt's probably got a routine guard posted there just in case. He's probably even forgotten about that entry point."_

"_Something unexpected…" Duncan trailed off, as he began to understand Chris' plan._

"_A dagger strike," Chris confirmed. "High level of risk, not much chance of success."_

_Duncan nodded as he began to think the plan through, "A small team could do it. They could strike and succeed where an all out attack wouldn't. Have you thought of a team yet and a timeframe?"_

_Chris shut his notebook firmly, "Me. Alone. I leave tonight."_

"_Are you nuts?" Duncan stared at Chris in disbelief. "Not only would Les and Darryl totally not go for it, but…are you nuts?"_

_Chris threw Duncan a withered look, "Darryl's in mourning. We are NOT going to bother him with this, are we clear?"_

_Duncan gulped, "What about Les?"_

_Chris shrugged. "Les is going to be away on a mission. You can fill him in tomorrow night when he gets back."_

_Duncan shook his head slowly, "You can't just run off without telling anybody. We have to make plans for you absence. Put in protocols."_

"_I'm not running off without telling anybody. I'm telling you," Chris pointed out. As Duncan opened his mouth, he held up his hand to stop Duncan from protesting further. "I've made up my mind, Duncan."_

"_Les isn't going to like this," Duncan warned._

_Chris reached out and patted Duncan on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry about it."_

"_Easy for you to say," Duncan replied, ruefully. "You're not the one whose head's going to be ripped off when Les finds out I didn't stop you."_

_Ignoring Duncan's protestations, Chris began to roll up the blueprints, "Last I checked, I was the leader here." Seeing the resignation on Duncan's face, Chris knew he could count on his friend. "You're in charge until Les gets back. Then you can fill him in."_

_Duncan sighed, following Chris out the door, "I don't like this, Chris. I've got a bad feeling about this."_

_Shutting the door to meeting room firmly, Chris made sure he had all the blueprints securely in his grasp. Looking into Duncan's worried eyes, Chris smiled crookedly, "I've made my decision – we need to cut the snake off at the head."_

"_We need to kill Wyatt."_

To be continued…


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Thanks to everyone (esp: Queen isa, girl with the green eyes, Charmed Ravenclaw, Andrea4, Shadow Dark Night, Miaka Summers, chattypandagurl, Zeria, IcantthinkofaFnick, charmedtomeetyou.) for taking the time to press that little button and letting me know your thoughts on the storyline. I am humbled by the number of you who've put up with my amateurish phrasing in No Fate to my plot stumbles in Redundant and overly long rambling here in Providence.

**Providence **

**Chapter 11**

_Above ground, the earth burns and smokes from the fires of our war, consuming all that lie in its path. This is a place worse than hell.  
_– from the journals of Chris Halliwell.

* * *

_Son of a bitch_, she thought. She couldn't believe that she fallen for every word Wyatt had told her about her mother's death – hook, line and sinker. The misgivings her gut instinct had screamed at her about Chris had been right. Wyatt had lied to her.

Worse, adding insult to injury, he thought she was fool enough to believe his lies.

And she had.

Disgusted with herself, _how could I have let myself be so easily deceived?_ she felt an uncontrollable urge to kill. She had thought the need for vengeance when she had first learned of her mother's death had been all consuming…all encompassing.

It wasn't even a _tenth_ of the desire for revenge she felt now.

Every nerve, every muscle, _screamed_ at her to follow Wyatt back to his private quarters and deal him the death he so richly deserved. Only her supreme willpower kept her from dashing out from her hiding place and following through on that desire.

Sweat poured into her eyes.

Wiping it away with the back of her hand, she forced herself to concentrate. Although rushing out and killing Wyatt was what she wanted, no, _needed_, to do, getting herself killed wouldn't help her achieve her goal.

After all, she wanted to live to savour her revenge.

Creeping forward, she inched her way along the darkly lit corridors. Though dimly lit, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she was spotted. She needed somewhere to hide, somewhere to stay out of sight until the right opportunity presented itself.

And she knew it would.

_Patience_, she cautioned herself. It was something all good assassins learned. She could still hear her mother's advice, guiding her. _Wait for it_.

Cautiously, she leaned back, trying to see around the corner without giving too much of herself away. She breathed a sigh of relief; it was empty. Picking up her pace, she moved ahead again.

She froze, holding her breath.

She heard footfalls coming towards her. Quickly.

Looking frantically around, she searched desperately for someplace to hide. Her eyes zeroed in on the heavy chrome plated door about half way down the hall. Without a second's thought, knowing that any minute she'd be discovered, she dashed over to the door, yanked it open and slipped inside.

The room was pitch black.

Letting her highly honed assassin skills assess the situation, she sensed she was alone. She slowly let out the breath she had been holding, leaning heavily against the door. Gathering up her nerve, she slowly opened the door, revealing a tiny crack of light into the dark room. Peering out with one eye, she waited for the demons she'd heard approaching to pass her line of sight.

_Zankou_…, she blinked, recognizing Wyatt's right hand man. She squinted, trying to get a better read on the situation. He was talking with another demon, one she didn't recognize.

"My lord Wyatt wishes to commence phase two tomorrow evening…" 

The demon grumbled something in response.

"…the Resistance…make sure everything is in place…"

She silently cursed as the two began to move out of sight. She cupped her hand around her ear, straining to over hear what the two were discussing.

"…train station…surprise…they won't know what hit them…"

And the two demons laughed maliciously before moving out of earshot.

Bianca let the door close, once again enveloping the room in total darkness.

_What the hell? _

* * *

It was time.

Chris hoisted the duffel bag over his shoulder, feeling the comfortable weight settle in the groove between his neck and shoulder. Glancing around the room to make sure he didn't miss anything, his eyes alighted on the framed photograph sitting prominently on his desk.

A picture of his family – he vaguely remembered the day the photo had been taken. His mother had noted that the last one taken had included a somewhat blurry Leo and Chris was still a baby. It was time for a new one, she had decreed, come hell or high water. She had picked up Wyatt and himself from school that afternoon, driving them directly to the photographer's studio to meet their father. He remembered how he had squirmed and fussed, until thoroughly exasperated with him, Piper had raised her voice at him, reprimanding him sharply.

It had been one of the few times in his entire life that his mother had _ever_ had to raise her voice at him.

_Chastened, he immediately ceased his fidgeting, resigned to the fact that his picture would be taken, whether he liked it or not. Hence, his slight pout amongst everyone else's happy smiles._

He also remembered how disappointed his mother had been when the portrait had arrived.

_He was watching from around the corner when Piper sighed and placed the portrait up on the wall. Realizing that his mother was disappointed by his sulk in the portrait, he felt crushed with guilt. Running up to Piper, he stretched his arms as far up as he could, wrapping them around her waist, hugging her hard. "I'm sorry, Mom," he said. "I'll make it up to you, really I will." _

_His mother hunkered down onto the floor next to him, so that her eyes were on the same level as his. "Chris," she explained slowly, "I know you didn't want to get your picture taken, but I thought you would understand how important it was to me. To our family." _

"_We can take another picture, can't we?" he asked, anxiously._

"_Of course we can, peanut," his mother agreed patiently. "But you understand it's not about the portrait? It's that you didn't understand how important this was for our family. Family comes first, Chris. Always."_

"_I'm sorry," he replied, shamefacedly. "I promise I won't ever again."_

_Pulling him into her strong embrace, he felt his mother press a soft kiss on the top of his head. "I'm counting on you to keep that promise."_

Before shutting the door to his quarters, he stared at the photograph one last time, looking into the brown eyes of his mother, her gaze full of love.

Guilt ate away at his soul.

_I'm sorry, Mom. So damned sorry._

* * *

A match flared, revealing a small table and several chairs.

Bianca grimly surveyed the contents of the room around her. Her eyes alit on a torch sitting in its sconce next to the door. Grabbing it, she quickly set her match to its head, smiling with grim satisfaction as the torch flared to life. Dropping the match to the floor, she stomped out the small flame and held the torch aloft. She moved around the room, poking her fingers into things, investigating.

Moving towards the table, she turned her head this way and that, studying the map laid out upon it. She blinked as she realized that the map was of the San Francisco area. Peering closer, her fingers flying over the surface, her hand paused at the huge red circle marking an area to the west end of the city.

_Shit,_ she thought,_ that's the train station! The one Chris so desperately needs… _

Combined with what she had just overheard, it certainly seemed like Wyatt was planning a surprise attack tomorrow evening on the train station. As she studied the map some more, she started to get a sinking feeling in her stomach. Someone had made markings of where the demons were stationed and how many each unit contained. From the detailing on the map, it was clear to Bianca that they had the Resistance boxed in.

She gazed down stupidly at the tally, her mind racing through the figures. _It'll be a massacre…I've got to warn them…I've got to warn, Chris._

A noise from the hall caused her to jerk her head up. Cursing, she looked for someplace to hide. Unfortunately the room was completely empty save the table and chairs. No hiding spaces. Returning the torch back to its sconce on the wall, she blew it out and waited, hoping that whoever it was would pass her by.

She heard voices just outside the door. _Just my luck_, she thought sourly, glancing up at the ceiling.

The door opened.

* * *

"That was a waste of time," Slick commented to Les, his tone disgusted.

The two team leaders and their scout teams were on their way back to base after the unfruitful supplies retrieval mission in sector seven. Upon arriving, they and Quentin's team had braved the still smouldering supplies depot for anything salvageable. Unfortunately, the fires had swept through the depot efficiently, cleaning the outpost of anything even remotely desirable. Fourteen hours later and nothing to show for it, Les was inclined to agree, "You won't get any argument from me."

"I still don't understand why Chris had you guys come. It's not like Quentin and I didn't have everything under control," Slick puzzled.

Les shrugged. "I don't even pretend to understand what goes on in Chris' mind most days."

Slick rubbed his forehead wearily, "I guess. So what are we going to do for supplies in the meantime?"

"I don't know." Les shook his head, "We'll have to put everyone on minimal rations until we can make another supplies foray."

"Even stricter than we've already imposed?" Slick asked in disbelief, his right eyebrow shooting up as he looked at Les sceptically. "What are we going to do? Ask everyone to stop eating?"

"If we have to," Les said evenly. "Those supplies were our last hope. And now that they're gone…"

Slick nodded unhappily. "Yeah. I know."

"Hopefully Chris has come up with something since I left," Les offered, his voice slightly trembling from fatigue. He looked at his watch, "We've been gone…what? Ten hours or there about?"

"Fourteen," Slick corrected. Recognizing that they were nearing home, he picked his walking pace. "Man, what a day. I can't wait to crawl into my bed and sleep for the next week. We've been on circuit for close to 36 hours straight."

"Who's relieving you?" Les quickened his pace to match Slick's.

Slick shrugged. "No idea. Guess I'll have to stop by command central and figure that out before I can hit the sack."

Turning the corner, the two stepped through the illusion of a collapsed tunnel, revealing the heavy steel door guarding the main entrance to the Resistance. Placing his hand on the door, Les offered, "I've got to go to command anyways to check in with Chris. I'll let them know that your team's back."

Slick threw Les a grateful look as the magical locking system, recognizing Les, swung open to reveal base ops. Anxious family and friends crowded the hall, hoping to catch sight of their loved ones. "Thanks. Normally I'd go and file my report right away, but I'm wiped."

Patting Slick on the shoulder, Les nodded, "I'll file an interim report until you get a chance to brief them in full. Get some sleep, okay?"

Nodding once, Slick turned back to his team, "Okay guys. Drop off your stuff, get cleaned up and the next 48 hours are yours. Get ready to move out then." Raising his eyebrows at the collective groans, "I'll pretend I didn't hear that and see you back here in two days." As the team dispersed amongst the crowd, Slick readjusted his backpack before disappearing into one of the nearby corridors.

Sighing, Les dragged his weary bones to the command centre. He was exhausted, having been up for more than 20 hours, over half of which he'd spent coughing, hacking and pawing through the smoking remains of sector seven's supplies depot. Climbing the metal staircase, he forced himself to put one foot in front of another. _What was that saying again? An object that's in motion, tends to stay in motion?_

Nodding at the two guards posted outside, he pushed his way through the door to enter the 'brain' of the Resistance. He ignored the searching glances from the Councillors who were involved in some sort of heated argument _again_, looking for Chris. Surprised to find him absent, Les turned to leave, thinking he'd check Chris' quarters for the elusive Resistance leader when he bumped into Duncan emerging from the small meeting room.

"Les!" Duncan exclaimed. "You're back early."

"You call this early?" Les asked acerbically, "I've been gone over 14 hours, Duncan."

Duncan flushed. "Yeah, well, we weren't expecting you till tonight, you know. So what's the word on the supplies depot?"

Les shook his head. "Waste of time. There's nothing left that wasn't burned to a crisp." A little impatient, "Look – have you seen Chris? I kind of need to talk to him."

"What about Slick? His team make it back okay?" Duncan avoided Les' gaze.

"Yeah. He'll check in after he's caught up on some sleep. That reminds me, we need to send another team out to cover his circuit," Les replied. Starting to feel like Duncan was dancing around the topic of Chris, Les asked bluntly, "Duncan. Where's Chris?"

"Well, you see…" Duncan trailed off hesitantly. "It's like…you know…"

"You know whenever you start babbling, I get a bad feeling in my stomach," Les eyed Duncan. "You've always been a horrible liar. Just spit it out, why don't you?"

"Chris left last night on his own to Wyatt's stronghold," Duncan's breath came out in a rush.

"Whaaaat?" Les drew out the word in disbelief. "Come again?"

Duncan could only nod silently.

Les stared at Duncan in dumbfounded amazement, "You've _got_ to be kidding me." When Duncan failed to contradict him, Les swore a blue streak. "Christ! What the hell is Chris thinking?" Running his fingers through his hair feeling thoroughly frustrated, Les began to pace back and forth, "And did he happen to enlighten you on _how_ he's going to stop Wyatt?"

Duncan glanced over Les' shoulder at the Councillors who were engrossed in their discussion before lowering his voice. "He's going to kill Wyatt."

"Damn it!" Les swore again. "He deliberately sent me out last night to sector seven because he knew if I had been here, there'd be no way I would have let him go through with this crazy plan."

Duncan shook his head, "You know as well as I do that no one can stop Chris once he puts his mind to something. And he was bound and determined to stop Wyatt. And it's not like he didn't think this through. He had me pull all the architectural blueprints of the stronghold – he thinks he can infiltrate Wyatt's fortress through the maintenance tunnels located at the bottom of the building. I think he could have a shot, Les."

"And what if he fails? What if he gets caught? Or worse, killed?" Les countered. "What are _we_ going to do?"

Unable to meet Les' eyes, Duncan could only offer, "He _was_ right, Les. This is our best chance to stop Wyatt. To put an end to the bleeding. Or, in Chris' words, '_to cut the snake off at its head_'."

Les shot a look at Duncan, "That's not the only thing that I'm worried about."

"What do you mean?"

"You're talking about assassination! That's cold-blooded murder by any honourable man's code," Les explained. "But murdering your own brother in cold blood? Even if he's the ruler of all evil? It'll kill Chris if he goes through with it."

Duncan frowned. "I never really thought about it that way. But surely Chris has?"

Les snorted. "You don't know him like I do. If he's decided to go through with this crazy fucked up plan of his, he's got his feelings buried so deep he's not thinking straight anymore."

"Okay, fine. So he's not thinking straight…" Duncan hesitated before voicing, "But did you consider what if he pulls it off? This could be the break we've been waiting for, Les. The break that turns the tide."

Les shook his head vehemently, "But at what cost? His life? Or worse, he succeeds in murdering his own brother…I don't care if Wyatt is the devil incarnate – you can't kill your own family and not come out scarred."

"Wyatt did," Duncan reasoned, softly.

"You call that normal?" Les asked incredulously. "Besides, he's _evil_, Duncan. Chris isn't. His morals, his ethics…his _humanity_…he won't be able to go through with this without…_losing_ a part of himself. Hell – right now I'm more worried about Chris than I am about Wyatt."

"So what do you want to do now? Do you want to stop him? _Can we?_"

"I don't know," Les shook his head. "I don't know."

* * *

"We need to be careful," Zankou was saying, as he trailed after Wyatt into the room. "We need to test the waters first. We don't even know if this is something of value to them. You're basing everything on a couple of assumptions."

Wyatt ignored him, and with a wave of his hand, illuminated the torches in the room instantaneously. Striding forward to the table, he leaned over the map, his eyes calculating. "You worry too much. Everything is going according to plan."

From her perch above, Bianca watched as Wyatt and Zankou coldly discussed their plans to wipe out the Resistance. Her arms trembled with fatigue as she held herself still against the ceiling, her arms and legs pushing against the beams to keep herself aloft. She calculated the odds of her taking out Wyatt and then Zankou and still coming out alive.

She needn't have bothered. Taking on Wyatt by himself would have been risky enough. Throw in Zankou and it was suicide.

Hers.

"We still haven't heard from the assassin. Your brother could still be alive," Zankou pointed out.

Wyatt shrugged coldly. "So? He can't stop me. No one can."

"He's proven before that he's tricky. What if this is some sort of trap on their part?" Zankou tried again. "I just think we need to a couple of more days to scout the area and get prepared."

Wyatt eyed his henchman derisively, "Do you really think that they could be laying a trap while _we_ are laying a trap for them at the same time? I think you give them too much credit."

Zankou stared at Wyatt, the avid hunger in the twice-blessed's eyes making him rethink his protests. "What would you have me do?"

"Gather our forces there," Wyatt jabbed his finger at the map, indicating the area circled in red. "We will surround the area in a semi-circle and close in from the two sides to complete the circle."

_So I was right! _Bianca thought. _Wyatt _is_ going to attack the train station. For all the good it does me – I've got to get out of here and warn the Resistance!_

Zankou craned his neck to follow Wyatt's finger, "The terrain in that area is fairly flat. The humans will see such a huge force mobilizing against them. There will be no chance for surprise."

Wyatt smiled. "There will if I cloak their presence."

"Is that possible?" Zankou asked doubtfully.

Bianca wondered the same thing herself.

Wyatt leaned forward, reinforcing his intensity with his posture, his lips drawing back in an evil grin, "Anything is possible when you are as powerful as I am. Enough." He reached down and rolled up the map, "You have your orders. I will be in my rooms, preparing the spell."

Zankou bowed, as Wyatt preceded him from the room, closing the door behind them. As soon as the door closed behind the two men, Bianca dropped down from her perch, landing softly on the balls of her feet. _That was too close_, she thought. _Another minute more and I think my arms would have given out._

Stretching slightly to relieve the pain in her muscles from holding the unnatural position for too long, she reviewed her choices. She could go after Wyatt and make him pay for her mother's death, or she could double back and warn the Resistance of the impending doom. One would quench her thirst for revenge, the other would satisfy the little voice inside her head – her conscience.

She made her decision.

_All right, Wyatt. You've had your fun. Now it's my turn._

* * *

Les was still brooding in the small meeting room, his feet resting on the desk as the thoughts churned in his mind. _Why, Chris? When did you decide that it was time to take out Wyatt? And when did you decide that you were the only one that could do it?_

Leaning back further into the chair, he thought back over the last couple of days, trying to determine whether there had been any warning signs, indications that he should have picked up on Chris' intentions.

He closed his eyes, wondering. Chris had taken all the blueprints of Wyatt's strong hold with him, so there was no way they could follow him. He'd tried getting the telepaths to get in touch with Chris, but he was deliberately ignoring them, refusing to respond.

_Or he could be dead_, Les thought darkly.

Either way, Chris had left the well being of the Resistance and its population in Les' hands. It wasn't a responsibility he had _ever_ wanted or even knew what to do with. Responding to messages from the borders, reviewing scouting reports, deploying teams for supply runs, attending Council meetings…these were all things Chris did on a daily basis that Les was now responsible for.

He was in way over his head.

Too many little things requiring his attention, too much patience required to deal with stiff upper lip Councillors…Les was starting to feel a little overwhelmed. _Christ, I never knew how much _crap_ Chris put up with everyday. How did the kid do it?_

His ears buzzing and his brain about to explode, Les had retreated into the small meeting room, with the proviso, _do not disturb!_ As much as he hated to, he'd sent word to Darryl. He needed all the help he could get.

A knock on his door, made him look up. Expecting Darryl, Les called out, "Enter!"

Duncan entered the room. Responding to Les' questioning look, he said grimly, "You'll never guess who we found." Sticking his head back outside, Duncan ordered, "Bring her in."

Two large, hulking scouts whom Les didn't recognize escorted a third individual into the small room. Shutting the door behind them, Duncan said sardonically, "A sight for sore eyes, isn't she?"

"Take your hands off of me," Bianca said icily, as she jerked her arms free from the two guards manhandling her. "Trust me, if I wanted to get away, you'd be dead and I'd be miles away from here. And you didn't _find _me. _I_ found _you_."

Flushing angrily, Duncan opened his mouth to retort, when Les interrupted, "What are you doing here?"

Swinging her eyes in Les' direction, she crossed her arms, "Where's Chris?"

"That's not your concern," Les replied, evenly. "I'll ask you again, what are you doing here?"

Searching his eyes, whatever she saw must have convinced her that Les meant business. "I came to give Chris…you…the heads up. Wyatt's planning an attack."

"So what else is new?" Duncan scoffed. "I say we put her into a room and throw away the key."

"Duncan," Les warned. "Why should I believe anything you say?"

Tossing her hair back defiantly, Bianca met his gaze steadily, "My story is easy enough to check out. Wyatt's moving his forces to take the train station. All that activity you guys caused there the other week made him suspicious. Send a scout team to investigate. You'll see I'm telling you the truth."

Les shot Duncan a look, "Go."

Nodding hastily, Duncan opened the door to exit the room when Bianca brought him up short. "Hold on. Make sure whoever you send can detect magic. Apparently Wyatt's come up with some new kind of illusion that's supposed to cloak their movements."

Glancing over at Les for his take, Duncan interpreted Les' careful nod and exited the room without another word. Bianca turned her attention back to Les, saying sarcastically, "What? No 'thank you'?"

"That remains to be seen," Les replied coolly. "And even if you did tell the truth, that doesn't mean that I trust you."

He saw a flash of something (hurt?) in Bianca's eyes, before her eyes seemed to darken, "Where's Chris?"

"You seem awfully anxious to talk to Chris. Worried that your little attempt to kill him didn't work? Let me be the first to reassure you that he's quite alive and breathing," Les returned, mockingly.

Bianca's shoulders sagged a bit, before she replied quietly, "I'm glad he's okay."

"No thanks to you," Les bit out, angered.

Her eyes flashing again, Bianca retorted, "Screw you. I thought he killed my mother. Not that I expect you to understand."

"And what changed your mind?" Les asked sarcastically. "Oh – let me guess. _Chris_ did."

Flushing, Bianca traded an angry look with Les before letting her eyes drop to the floor, "I overheard Wyatt telling Zankou that _he_ killed her."

Les ignored the desire to believe her, focusing instead on analyzing her words, his voice rising with each thought voiced, "You overheard Wyatt? Obviously you were at his stronghold. What did you tell him about us? Did you tell him where were located? Did you tell him about the base, the tunnels? _Did you?_"

"No!" Bianca shouted back. "I didn't go there to tell him anything. I went…I went back to get my stuff and then I was going to high tail it out of there. Put as much distance between him and me. Because I _didn't_ want to tell him anything."

"Yeah, right." Les looked at her sceptically.

"Oh, believe what you want," Bianca replied, frustrated. "You will anyways. Nothing I say will change your mind."

About to question her further, Duncan re-entered the room, his forehead beaded with sweat, "Les – she's telling the truth. Zach's team confirmed it through communications. Wyatt's moving to take the train station. And he's got his demons heavily cloaked."

"Damn it!" Les swore. He looked at Duncan, his gaze steely, "We need that train station, Duncan."

Duncan nodded. "I'm on it. I'll work out a plan and have it ready for you in an hour." Without waiting for Les to agree, Duncan disappeared from the meeting room.

Running his fingers through his hair, Les stared at the blank wall. _Think! What would Chris do?_, he asked himself.

"Where's Chris?"

He'd forgotten all about Bianca, "Why? So you can try and kill him again?"

Bianca crossed her arms defensively, "No. I just…I just wanted to talk to him."

"Well, he's not here, sweetheart," Les said, his tone clipped. "So you're just going to have to deal with me."

Darryl suddenly entered the room. "Les. I came as soon as I could. What's going on? Where's Chris?"

Shooting a warning glance at Darryl, Les jerked his head towards Bianca, "Careful. Come on, I'll fill you in."

The two men huddled in the corner, whispering, as Les quickly brought Darryl up to speed. Try as she might, Bianca could only make out a couple of words.

"…_.went after Wyatt…"_

"_Is he nuts?"_

"…_we think…tunnels…maintenance…has a shot…"_

She blinked. "He went after Wyatt?"

Les looked at her in disgust, "How the hell did you…"

Bianca shrugged, "I read lips. Another skill that comes in handy when you're an assassin."

"I'll bet," Les glared at her sourly.

Darryl looked over at her, his gaze narrowing before turning his attention back to Les. "Why don't you take care of this? I'll start coordinating with Duncan." He moved to leave the room, pausing to glance down at the assassin before exiting, "My wife thought you were in love with Chris. Was it all an act?"

"I…I don't know," Bianca whispered, her tone anguished, unable to meet his eyes.

Darryl gazed down on the bowed head, saying finally as he left the room, "My wife was a pretty good judge of character. I'd hate to see her proven wrong."

Closing the door behind him, Darryl once again left Bianca with her two guards and Les staring at her. "Well?"

"Well what?" Les grumbled.

"Chris. He went after Wyatt?" she asked carefully.

"I guess it's no use denying it now," Les said tiredly. "Yeah. Yeah, he did."

"That's…It's suicide!" Bianca sputtered in disbelief, "How could you let him go?"

Les looked at her sardonically, "I didn't _let_ him do anything, lady."

"Aren't you supposed to watch his back? Look out for him? Be his friend?" Bianca shot back heatedly.

"Not that I have to justify myself to you," Les looked at her in amazed disbelief. _This was the second time in as many days that someone had made the same accusation! _"But for the record, the kid took off behind my back."

"He's going to get himself killed!" Bianca shouted. "Is that what you want?" Unwittingly, she took a couple of steps forward only to be brought up short quite forcefully by her two guards. She sneered, "You really think you can hold me? I know 25 ways to kill you with my bare hands."

Paling, her two guards looked at each other nervously, their hands still wrapped around her arms.

"Make that twenty-six,"

Both guards dropped their hands, taking a nervous shuffle backwards as Les snorted, "Give me one reason why I shouldn't cut your throat right here and now."

"I can give you several. One – you'd be dead before your hand even reached the knife in your back pocket," she paused, letting the impact of her statement sink in. "Two – I know my way around Wyatt's strong hold. And I'm willing to take you there so we can get Chris."

Still smarting over how she had known about his knife, Les asked mockingly, "How do I know this isn't a trick?"

"Oh for god's sake!" Bianca threw her hands up in the air. "We don't have time for this. Chris is in _danger_!"

"Fine," Les nodded. "You want to help Chris?"

"I want to _stop _him."

"Feeling some sympathy for your former employer, are you?" Les sneered.

"No. I want to stop Chris because it would _kill_ him to murder his own brother in cold blood. He doesn't have it in him. It would…damage him…irreparably," Bianca returned Les' look steadily.

"And how would you know?" Les avoided making the question sound insulting by shading his tone quietly.

"Trust me. If there's one thing I know – it's whether someone can commit cold-blooded murder. And Chris can't," Bianca replied, wearily.

"So we stop him and then what? How do we stop Wyatt? Chris won't give up if we don't have an answer for him," Les argued.

"We find another way."

"What other way?" Les demanded.

"I don't know!" Bianca yelled back, frustration and fear running through her veins. "We'll figure that out later. Right now – my first concern is Chris."

Silence.

Studying her, Les slowly nodded. "All right. You and I. We leave now to get Chris. I give you fair warning – one wrong move and I'll kill you where you stand."

Inclining her head slightly to acknowledge her agreement, Bianca replied, "Fine. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet, lady. I don't believe a word you just said except that you know the layout of Wyatt's base. And right now, that's information I need," Les removed his knife from the back pocket, deliberately cleaning it in front of her. "Oh, and so we're clear? If you hurt him, I'll hunt you down and kill you."

Not needing Les to explain who 'him' was, Bianca watched as the light glinted off the blade, "I wouldn't expect anything less."

* * *

To be continued….

_Will Les and Bianca reach Chris in time? Will Darryl and Duncan be able to hold off the attacks at the train station? All these questions to be answered in the next instalment of Providence!_


	12. Chapter 12

**Special note:** I'm having problems with the formatting. This is the third time I'm reposting and hopefully FF will post it correctly. If not, I apologize to those who still get the icky version (looks regretfully at Sparkling Cherries...)

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reviewing and leaving such encouraging feedback. Not only am I over the moon to hit the 100 mark (does a little happy dance) but I also wanted to reassure you that I analyze each and every person's feedback – and more often than not, it results in a change in the direction of the story.

Fanastygirl721: Hope you're feeling better!

Girl-with-the-green-eyes: It's been a struggle of mine to maintain a proper balance between the main and secondary characters and making sure I don't let the supporting cast cloud the main plot thread – so thanks for noticing!

Charmed Ravenclaw: Glad you liked it. Thanks for all the supportive comments through this creative process.

Jen: A new reader! Welcome to my universe – glad you're hooked…thanks for the warm words and encouragement.

Andrea4: Addicted in a good way, I hope. Thanks for the kind words – much happiness is mine.

Asha Dreamweaver: Thanks!

Ilovedrew88: Thanks for sticking with me from the beginning…it is incredibly humbling.

Charmedtomeetyou: I, too, hope this trip isn't for nothing…thanks for the review.

Sparking Cherries: Don't apologize. It was actually my bad. You did indeed leave one for the last chapter – I'm just technologically inept (in case you haven't noticed). Thank you for making time to leave feedback for each and every chapter – it is noticed and appreciated.

Zeria: I'll let you in on a little secret – there will indeed be another such scene. Shhhh! – don't tell the others, okay? Thanks for the feedback.

IcantthinkofaFnick: Glad you liked! And in case I haven't mentioned it before, seeing your reviews always bring a smile to my face.

**

* * *

Providence**

**Chapter 12**

_The weather is damp and miserable. I sit huddled in my tent, the smell of the dead all around me. I do not want to return to the front, and am ashamed of my cowardice. I continue only because I know I must. Because if I don't, then the demons will surely win and we will all be lost. But I want to go home. I want to go home and be with you, my dear, sweet wife.  
_excerpt from a recovered letter written by an unknown Resistance fighter

* * *

"Have you really thought this through?" Darryl asked, watching Leslie gather supplies. "Maybe…maybe stopping Chris isn't such a good idea…" 

Les stared at Darryl in amazement, sputtering, "Are you kidding me?"

The command centre was eerily calm – all non-essential personnel had been banned from the room and Council meetings had been temporarily suspended. Chairs had been cleared, making room for several heavy, large tables covered with maps, scouting reports and other important documents. The atmosphere in the room had an undertone of humming, conveying…almost…a sense of anticipation…activity was brisk and efficient…it was evident to everyone that they were on the cusp of something monumental.

Holding up his hand to forestall further protests, Darryl continued, "Hear me out. If Chris succeeds…if he's able to…eliminate Wyatt – it could mean the end of the war. Would that be so bad?"

"And have you thought about Chris? Do you have any idea how this could impact him emotionally? We're talking about assassinating his brother, here," Les argued.

"Of course I have," Darryl replied, impatiently. "Chris is like another son to me. His well being is important to me…but…"

"But?" Les raised his eyebrow sceptically.

"But maybe one person's…well being…doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things," Darryl sighed, rubbing his forehead as if in pain. "Not when it comes to tens of thousands of people."

"Darryl, I'm not going to argue the merits of one life over millions of others," Les replied, his tone cold. "Bottom line – if Bianca's telling the truth, we're going to need Chris to figure out a way around that cloaking spell. This is a tactical decision. Full stop."

Darryl shrugged. "Ben's doing the best he can. At least he can tell there's a huge amount of magical energy in that area – confirming our suspicions that _something's_ there, anyways."

"A _lot_ of somethings, given the amount of magical energy they're detecting," Les replied grimly. "You and I both know Ben isn't getting anywhere. We need Chris."

"I know."

"So we're agreed?" Les stuck his right hand out.

Without hesitation, Darryl grasped his friend's hand, giving it a strong squeeze. "To the end."

"Ever the optimist." The wisecrack sounded forced.

"So how long do you think you'll be?" Darryl asked Les quietly, unable to do more than crack a small smile at Les' jest.

"Eight hours," Les returned, looking down the barrel of a crossbow. Turning it over, he checked the hair trigger release – jiggling with it to try to make it less sensitive. "Twelve on the outside. Can you hold it together that long?"

"Sun sets in less than ten hours. Bianca said Wyatt was planning to attack as soon as night falls. That gives you an extra two hours for you to find Chris – if we're lucky," Darryl hunched over the map of the terrain surrounding the train station. "I figure we've been damned unlucky so far…we're about due for a break."

Darryl raised his eyes to meet Les' gravely, "Les – we need Chris. His knowledge of the Charmed Ones and their spells…if Ben can't solve this, and you don't make it back before nightfall…we can't fight shadows…"

Slinging the crossbow across his shoulders, Les began to carefully inspect each arrow. Satisfied, Les shoved the last arrow into its holder. Picking it up, he met Darryl's eyes, his own filled with determination, "We'll make it back. I swear."

Darryl nodded, preferring not to voice the alternative. "Good luck."

"Thanks. I think I'm going to need all the luck I can get."

_

* * *

Damn this mud, _Chris thought dispiritedly as he cautiously trekked across the swamp-like clearing,_ it sticks to everything. _He looked down at his shoes. He sighed; equal parts irritated and discouraged. Near the southern most part of their borders, Chris had emerged from the array of tunnels and sewers that ran beneath the city a scant fifteen minutes ago. He still had another couple of miles to go before he would pass through the dead zone and could use his orbing ability as the spell extended just past the reach of the network of tunnels. 

Wyatt's magic had wreaked havoc on the weather, causing endless torrents of rain and storms to rage over the city. It was another reason why Chris had chosen the tunnels and sewers of the city as his base of operations. Protection from the elements was key, and above ground, Chris was experiencing first hand the results of wrong magic that he sometimes forgot.

_At least it's not still raining_, he thought, trying to cheer himself up. However, from the puddles on the ground and the abundance of mud, it seemed that the rain had only recently let up.

The hair on his arms stood up, reinforcing the feeling that _something_ was watching him. Not for the first time, he wondered at the lack of demons in the area. More often than not, Wyatt turned his minions loose to scour the areas near their borders, searching for Resistance fighters trying to make their way back to base.

_Maybe I'm just lucky_, he thought to himself. _Maybe it's their day off._

He snorted softly to himself.

As he continued to pick his way across, his mind flew over the events of the past few days. The crisis with the water supply, Sheila's death, Bianca's betrayal…_I sure know how to pick 'em_, Chris thought sourly to himself. _Saying I was having a crappy week must be the understatement of the year!_

How had things come to such a head? It wasn't like he could claim that he hadn't been aware of the water crisis. Hell, they'd known over a month ago things were heating up. But Sheila's death had thrown him – as naïve as that sounded. _There is no such thing as war without loss_, Chris thought grimly. _Did I really think everyone I cared about would come through unscathed? I was a fool – first mom, then the rest of the family. Why did I think things would ever change?_

And Bianca. Her betrayal had stung. It had hurt more than he cared to admit. He'd thought there had been a connection between them…a mutual attraction. Maybe a potential for…something more.

Obviously it had been one-sided. His.

_Or maybe she's like those black widow spiders_, Chris thought humourlessly, _who kill their mates. Or is that a praying mantis? Or both?_ Either way, his track record in the dating department was beginning to resemble his aunt Phoebe's. _Great_, he thought sarcastically, _I couldn't inherit premonitions from my gene pool. I had to inherit the 'dating' gene._ He smiled grimly at his black humour.

_Whatever. Christ, Chris – concentrate!_ He laughed to himself hollowly, _Now I'm talking to myself in third person…they say the first sign of insanity…_

Finally, Chris felt his stomach drop, a tell tale sign that he'd clear the dead zone. Glancing over his shoulder one last time and spotting no one, he took a deep breath and orbed out.

As his blue orbs disappeared, a group of demons shimmered into sight. One of them asked, out loud, "This the place?"

Another shook his head, pointing with his finger, "Almost there. Zankou wants us stationed on that hill over there."

"Then let's get moving, maggots," snarled the leader. "And get ready to rumble."

* * *

They weaved through the tunnels at a brisk pace; Bianca setting a relentless pace. Les didn't complain – he was just as anxious to clear the dead zone so Bianca could shimmer them to Wyatt's stronghold. He looked down at his watch again, the backlight illuminating the face of the clock. 

_Six hours till sunset…_

"You know," Bianca said, conversationally, interrupting Les' thoughts, "you don't need to follow behind me so closely."

_She must have eyes in the back of her head_, Les glared at her back, a little surprised at her observation – she hadn't even turned around to deliver it. _How had she known I was watching her so closely?_ To cover his surprise, Les replied rather gruffly, "Why don't you let me be the judge of that?"

"Whatever."

Silence fell between them again. After a couple of minutes, Les couldn't take it anymore. Giving in to his curiosity, he asked, "Why did you come back?"

"You wouldn't believe me even if I told you."

"Why don't you try me?" Les countered.

Bianca sighed. "I came back because…once I knew what Wyatt was planning…what he was going to do…it would be a massacre. And I…and I couldn't let that happen. Not if it was in my power to stop it."

"Do you honestly expect me to believe that?" Les scoffed. "You're an _assassin_. You massacre people all the time!"

She stopped so abruptly that Les found himself bumping into her. Whipping her head around, she gave him a narrow eyed look, "I may be an assassin, but I've _never_ participated in a massacre. Not only is it gluttonous, it's inefficient and it's overkill."

"Great," Les snorted, "so if it ever becomes efficient, you'll have a whole new line of work."

"Look, I never pretended that I had a complete change of heart suddenly overnight," Bianca snapped. "My reasons are my own. As long as the intel is good, why should you care?"

"I care because I won't have you yanking my friend's chain," Les replied, his tone deadly.

Bianca's eyebrow lifted, "He's an adult. He can judge for himself."

Les shook his head, "Not when it comes to trusting people. Bottom line – Chris is one of those rare individuals who refuses to see what's looking them in the eye. He'll believe the best of everyone until you unequivocally prove him wrong. And by then, sometimes it's too late."

"You're talking about Wyatt," Bianca guessed, her voice soft.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I am," Les nodded to himself. "For the longest time, Chris didn't believe Darryl that Wyatt was evil. He couldn't. It took…a lot for him to accept it. It…he was devastated."

"I can see how that could be," Bianca mused.

"I still don't think he fully accepts it in his heart of hearts," Les shrugged. "You think something like that – when your brother is evil personified, would change Chris' outlook. But he's struggled to hold onto that..." Les broke off, searching for the word to describe.

"Faith," Bianca agreed quietly. "It's one of the first things I noticed about him."

Les shook his head slightly, "He's lost that, now, I think. It's why he's finally brought himself to go after Wyatt."

"Par for the course when your brother is the ruler of all evil, I'd imagine," Bianca replied, dryly. "But it's why we need to stop him. That faith…it's what makes him strong. Makes Chris…_Chris._"

"You care about him," Les said abruptly, his tone almost accusatory. "It comes through your thoughts. Even though I'm not reading your mind…I can feel the emotions behind your words when you say his name. I can only do that when the emotions are strong."

Taken aback at the swift change in topic, Bianca blinked before replying honestly, "Yes."

"I don't think you're good for him," Les stated, his tone clipped.

"Probably not," Bianca agreed, her tone defensive.

"But you still want to help him."

"It's not like I have much choice in the matter," Bianca snapped. "Something in me…I _have_ to help him."

"He doesn't feel the same way about you. How could he? You're a cold blooded killer," Les replied, rather cruelly. "You should know…he never will."

Bianca flinched as his barb found its target. She was glad that her back was to Les; she refused to let him see how much he had hurt her. "It doesn't matter."

"Just so we're clear."

"Oh," Bianca replied, grimly. "we're clear. Believe me. We're crystal clear."

* * *

He reformed less than a mile away from Wyatt's stronghold. Ducking quickly behind the remains of a stone building, he cautiously peered over the top. _Still nothing. Where the hell are all the demons?_

The lack of demon activity was beginning to freak him out. Obviously, there was something going on, but what? _A trap?_ _It's too late now, anyways_, Chris thought. _I've come all this way…I'm not turning back now just because I've got a 'feeling'_.

His eyes scanned the deserted road leading into the area he wanted to go. Thunderclouds overhead seemed to concentrate on one building in particular. The only building still left standing.

Wyatt's stronghold.

A chill crept down his spine. The concentration of the dark clouds was unnatural to say the least. Then again, he could have said that of most things lately.

At last spying what he was looking for, Chris scrambled from around his hiding place, staying low to the ground. Kicking the manhole cover aside, he beamed his flashlight into the darkness. He nodded in grim satisfaction, dropping his heavy duffel bag first into the sewer and then quickly following it down, clambering down the ladder and replacing the cover overhead.

Dropping lightly to his feet the last couple of metres, he landed in a puddle, the water splashing onto the cuffs of his jeans. Ignoring the dampness, he scooped up his duffel bag, slinging it across his shoulder and took off at a dead run.

With only his flashlight and relying on his memory of the underground sewers, Chris weaved his way through the intricate layout of tunnels. Above ground, it would have been a straight mile. Under ground, well, sometimes you had to head north to eventually wind up west.

Every couple of turns or so, he would stop and dig out a piece of chalk from his pockets, marking the tunnels. While he was pretty sure he knew were he was going, the chalk would make sure he didn't double back, or worse, run around in circles.

He slowed his pace as he began to approach the tunnel that would lead him to the maintenance entrance to Wyatt's stronghold. Switching his flashlight off, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Flickering lights from the neon gas lamps provided a somewhat dim view of the tunnel ahead. Dropping to his knees, he dug his hand blindly into his duffel bag, his hand closing around a couple of glass vials. Pulling the vanquishing potions from the depths of the bag, he tucked them into his pockets before resuming forward.

In the distance he head some disgruntled grunting. Flattening himself against the edge of the tunnel, he inched himself closer to the sound. The tunnel curved slightly, preventing Chris, and Wyatt's guard, from seeing each other. Pausing, Chris held his breath as the grumbling increased in its intensity. Chris watched the opposite wall, as the shadow of the guard came into view. It then retreated, and the grunting noises also decreased in volume. The guard was obviously pacing back and forth.

_At least there's only one guard_, Chris hoped as he continued to strain his eyes and ears for any sign of another one. Readying the potions in his right hand, he thought,_ Only one shot at this…_

As the shadow of the demon loomed huge once again, Chris leapt out from his hiding place, throwing the vials containing the vanquishing potions at the startled demon. Before the demon could open its mouth to sound the alarm, it burst into flames, leaving behind a scorched mark on the floor.

Chris waited.

When no one attacked him, he breathed a sigh of relief. There _had_ been only one guard and he'd vanquished it before the demon had a chance to alert his buddies. _Must be my lucky day_, Chris thought, a little ironically.

Grabbing his duffel bag once again, he stood in front of the latticed entrance that the demon had been so poorly guarding. Wrapping his fingers through the holes in the mesh wire, he carefully lifted the metal gate just enough to allow him to slip through. Stuffing his bag through the opening he quickly followed it, sliding through sideways into the maintenance tunnel.

Slightly hunched over, he picked up his bag in one hand and began to quickly move towards the centre of the building. He didn't know if the demon had a check in time, but he was sure as hell hoping he'd be gone before anyone noticed that demon was no longer manning his post.

_All right, Wyatt._ Chris thought grimly. _I think it's about high time for a family reunion._

* * *

"We can't fight what we can't see," Duncan said, quietly. 

Locked in the small meeting room, the two men bleakly studied the map of the area. Little blue counters were placed in clumps on the map. Darryl scowled, though not at Duncan, but rather at the doomed situation, "We don't have a choice. If we don't win this one – Wyatt will have a stranglehold on us. It'll only be a matter of time before we run out of water completely."

Duncan shook his head slowly, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "So what do we do? We don't even _know_ where Wyatt will place his demons. How can we even possibly come up with a counter attack?"

_Damn it, Sheila. I wish you were here. _Darryl studied the map, his eyes slowly roving over the small notations, taking notice of the terrain. An idea began to form as he continued to stare at the crinkled paper, "We hold our side of the ravine only. We don't even attempt to take the train station, not without Chris. It's too risky. We'll reinforce our defences here, here and here."

Duncan nodded, watching as Darryl stabbed his fingers at several places on the map, "I get it. Even though Wyatt's got his forces cloaked, strategically, there are only three areas where it makes sense for him to try and break through our lines."

"Correct," Darryl answered. "If we _could_ see where the demons were concentrated, we could focus our defences there. But since we can't, we'll be spread a bit thin since the points are so far apart."

"That's an understatement and you know it. We're outnumbered as it is. Even if we only concentrate our focus on those three points, wherever Wyatt eventually launches the attack, it'll be suicide for whoever's holding that point. By the time the other two teams realize where Wyatt's attacking, it'll be too late…" Duncan retorted.

_Either we go in, impossible odds and all, or we lose the war…_Darryl closed his eyes for a moment, "But it will buy us enough time to get the other two teams to get there to hold them off. We lose the team on the point, but we win the stalemate." _War is a waste. It's my job to keep it to a minimum._

Duncan swallowed, staring at Darryl, saying hoarsely, "We'll lose half of our people."

_If we're lucky, we might be able to get out with only a thirty percent loss – except that these aren't just numbers we're talking about, or the counters we use to plan. Those numbers represent people. Our people. _Darryl opened his eyes, meeting Duncan's anguished gaze, "It's necessary."

Seeing the cold logic and pain in Darryl's eyes, Duncan nodded painfully before turning to take his leave. "I'll gather the troops. Tell them the plan. And the odds."

The door shut behind him, leaving Darryl alone in the room.

_Come on, Les. Find Chris. We're all counting on you… _

* * *

"How much further?" Les wanted to know. 

After clearing the dead zone, Bianca had shimmered them as close as she dared to Wyatt's stronghold. Sticking to the underground, they had hoped to catch sight of Chris, to no avail. The corridor that would eventually connect to the building's maintenance tunnel was dark and damp, the lighting barely serviced by the flickering gas lights running along the crease in the ceiling.

"How old are you, ten?" Knowing he couldn't see her expression from behind, Bianca rolled her eyes heavenward. _Please give me patience…_

"I'm just trying to figure out how far behind we are from Chris," Les pointed out.

"He's got more than four hours on us," Bianca snapped. "How far behind do you _think_ we are?"

"Any sign of him?" Les asked, looking over his shoulder cautiously.

Touching her hand to the wall, she pulled it back, studying her fingers. "Maybe."

"What is it?"

Rubbing her fingers together, she felt the gritty texture of the white substance. "I think it's chalk."

"Chalk? Why would chalk be on the walls?" Les watched as Bianca sniffed her fingers. As she opened her mouth and dabbed her finger lightly against her tongue, Les cringed, disgusted. "That's disgusting! I can't believe you just did that!"

"Definitely chalk," she confirmed as she wiped her fingers on the back of her jeans. "He must be marking his way."

"At least we know we're heading in the right direction. So we must be right on his tail, right?"

Cutting to the right at the next fork, she held up her hand suddenly, whispering, "Shhhh! There should be a guard just up ahead."

Cautiously, Bianca began to creep forward, her eyes and ears peeled for any sign of the demon sentry. As she rounded the corner, she stopped abruptly, surprised. Not expecting Bianca to stop so suddenly, Les ran right into her. "Ouch!"

"Sorry," Les said, a little sheepishly as Bianca gave him an evil glare. "What? Why'd you stop?"

"There should be a demon posted here, guarding this entrance," Bianca waved at the gated corridor leading into the maintenance tunnel. "This is the weak point."

Shrugging, Les looked around before saying, "Maybe he's on break."

Ignoring her companion's inane chatter, Bianca narrowed her eyes, slowly running her gaze over every inch of the area, looking for clues. Her eyes alighted on a scorch mark on the floor, and dropping down, she cautiously reached out to touch the darkened mark on the ground.

Crouching down next to her, Les eyed the spot dubiously, "Is that a scorch mark? Or a gas leak?"

"Only one way to find out," Bianca lifted her shoulder negligently, bringing her hand back to her mouth and touching her index finger to her tongue. She spat. "Yep, definitely a scorch mark."

"What? Do you just go around randomly tasting things?" Les exclaimed, staring at the assassin in horror. He sputtered, "Not only was that totally unhygienic, but…that was disgusting!"

Rolling her eyes, Bianca stood up, brushing her hands on her pants, "At least now we know it's a scorch mark, idiot. And we know that Chris must have passed through here."

Still shuddering with disgust, Les straightened as well. "It's still disgusting."

Turning away from him, Bianca moved towards the gated entrance. Cautiously testing the mesh wire for booby traps, she reassured herself it was 'safe.' She laced her fingers through the holes and moved the lattice gently to one side, peering into the darkness, trying to get a better read. "Don't be such a baby. Come on. Let's go."

Without waiting for him to respond, she quickly entered the darkened corridor, disappearing into the darkness. Cursing, Les fumbled for his flashlight, training it on the back of the assassin, watching as she quickly receded into the tunnel. Muttering a prayer under his breath, Les heaved a sigh, and leapt in after her.

_I just hope we're not too late… _

* * *

He was tired. 

The spell had taken more out of him that he had thought. But it was done. A success! Satisfaction flowed through his veins. There was nothing he couldn't do.

Breathing heavily, he slowly moved towards a nearby chair. Exhausted but exhilarated, he sank into the deep cushions, his eyes closing as he sought to regain his strength.

With a flick of his wrist, he dimmed the lights, letting the room fall into grey darkness, the only light source coming from the nearby window. The sunlight filtered through the clouds and streamed into the room weakly, barely showcasing the furniture.

He knew he should be among the demons, giving orders and commanding his troops, but he needed to recover first. Use of magic, especially the excessive amount he had just used to complete the cloaking spell, drained the user of energy. And although he was the twice blessed and had the ability to heal himself, even _he_ was bound by the physics of magic.

Wyatt was also well aware that if he appeared in front of his underlings now in his weakened state, it was more than likely they would attempt to overthrow him. If there was one thing he had learned as ruler of all evil, it was always to present himself as a position of power.

He slumped further down in his chair, staring outside the nearby window but not seeing anything. Bored and frustrated, he brooded. The spell had been harder than anything he had ever tried before. His joints ached, his eyelids were heavy and his strength waned.

His breathing slowed. He stretched slightly, relaxing.

Almost nonchalantly, he remarked out loud, "I was wondering when you would finally show up."

Chris stepped out from his hiding place in the shadows behind his brother.

"Hello, Wyatt."

* * *

"If I didn't know they were there, I'd swear there was nothing there," Duncan murmured, peering through a pair of binoculars. 

Though Wyatt's spell had cloaked the movement of the demons from their sight, their witches _were_ able to sense the concentration of magic. If they were right, the demons would run into something nasty that wasn't suppose to be there pretty soon. He'd had Quentin out there with his team, diverting water from a stream into the meadows, turning it into a marshy swamp. An illusion of a green meadow overlaid on top of the waist deep pit of muck, Darryl could only hope that they could lure the demons into a charge right into the middle of it. _It would take the luck of a leprechaun for the demons to charge just so_, Darryl thought humourlessly. _Maybe I should get Riley to rub his clover or something._

It was a little eerie, looking out at an empty landscape, being well aware that it was anything _but_ empty.

"Are Michael and DJ ready?" Darryl asked, for the umpteenth time.

"As ready as they'll ever be," Duncan replied, his eyes trained on the plains in front of them.

"What about Slick and Zach? Are they in position?"

Duncan nodded. "Slick's got the right flank, and Zach's positioned with the left."

"And Ben?"

"Everything's in place, Darryl. Either it works or it doesn't. There's nothing more we can do but wait," Duncan said wearily. "We've planned for every possibility. We're prepared for every possibility. Now we wait."

"I was never the sort that was good at waiting," Darryl responded, grimly. He glanced down at this watch.

"He'll be here, Darryl," Duncan said softly, without looking over.

"Huh?"

"That's the fifth time you've looked at your watch in the last hour," Duncan explained, patiently. "We've still got time. Les said they'd be here in time. They'll be here."

Darryl heard the false bravado in Duncan's voice, knowing that he needed to believe every word that he'd just spoken. Staring at the position of the sun in the sky, Darryl could feel the fear creep into his heart. Forcing it back through sheer will, Darryl swallowed hard, feeling the sweat beading on his forehead. Duncan was right. _Either it works or it doesn't. Either Les reaches Chris in time or he doesn't. It's out of my hands. _Rather than continuing to voice his doubts, Darryl provided Duncan with the words he needed to hear, "I know."

Duncan glanced at Darryl sharply, whose eyes were determinedly focused on the scenery in front of him. Duncan opened his mouth to say something, and then abruptly changed his mind. Instead, he said, merely, "Okay, then."

"If you know any prayers, now might be the time to say them."

* * *

To be continued… 

_Chris does the unexpected, Duncan and Darryl try to hold off Wyatt's demons, and Les and Bianca try to reach Chris to bring him back in time to save their friends…_


	13. Chapter 13

**Special note (please read): **This is not a nice chapter. I remind you once again about the story rating.

A/N: Wow – I can't believe I surpassed my word count of 'No Fate'! Thanks to everyone for letting me know my little attempt to inject some comedy garnered a few chuckles. I will confess though that the 'tasting' thing was my homage to a certain TV show from once upon a time.

Charmed Ravenclaw: Regarding _Redundant_, I will be revisiting it after this one is done…more info on it will be posted with the final chapter of _Providence_. Thanks for the review and the encouragement.

Zeria: Heh. Interesting theory…but I shall let you read on to find out if you're right. Glad you liked the chapter – thanks for the compliment!

Queen Isa: Not at all. I'm dragging this out to torture everyone. Just kidding. I agree that humour is a difficult emotion to write in fics – hey, it took me 12 chapters before I could get a laugh!

DrewFullerFan: I, too, confess that I think this one's better. Good to know my writing is finally improving rather than deteriorating further.

ShadowDarkNight: Good to hear that you thought the suspense was building well – I was afraid I was making it a bit tedious, so I appreciate the feedback.

Ilovedrew88: Hope this chapter will live up to your expectations. Thanks for the review!

Girl-with-the-green-eyes: Thanks for the feedback – I was wondering if the flip between the two emotions was working so it's great to know it did. Bon voyage!

Icantthinkofafnick: A life of a slug, eh? Hmmm…I think you give me too much credit. Glad you're liking the chapters. Thanks for always taking the time to leave me such extensive feedback.

Sparkling Cherries: I noticed you posted your review before the 'clean' version went up…I hope the horrid formatting didn't throw you too much. Thanks for the review!

* * *

**Providence **

**Chapter 13 **

Wyatt warily watched his brother's slow approach through half lidded eyes. He cursed himself silently, knowing he was in a weakened state. Still exhausted from his recent magic use, Wyatt's breathing was laboured.

"You're not looking so well, brother," Chris drawled as he circled Wyatt from behind, positioning himself directly in front of his brother's gaze.

Wyatt shrugged nonchalantly, "You don't look so well either. A little thinner, perhaps? You should really change that diet of shrubs and berries."

"Why don't you let me worry about my diet?" Chris replied, rather coolly. "You're looking a little peaked there, Wy. You don't have the same excuse. What's the matter? Been using a bit too much magic lately?"

"Nothing I can't handle," Wyatt replied, evenly. He returned Chris' searching look with an arrogant stare, knowing full well he was bluffing.

"Really?" Chris asked sardonically. "Could've fooled me."

Wyatt returned his gaze to the window, his tone dripping with deliberate boredom, "I take it this wasn't a social call?"

"Can't a brother pay a visit to his only family without all the suspicion?" Chris responded, his eyes never leaving Wyatt's face. "We seem to hardly ever see each other any more, do we?"

Wyatt shrugged. "And whose fault is that?"

"Well," Chris drew out the word before releasing his breath. "I'd like to firmly lay that sin at your door. After all, I could hardly invite you over for tea and crumpets after you had our family killed."

"Are you still stuck on that?" Wyatt scoffed disbelievingly. "They were _weak_. Only the strong survive, Chris. You know that."

"Strong?" Chris snorted. "Don't you mean powerful?"

"Semantics," Wyatt answered, his tone casual. "You say po-tae-toe, I say po-tah-to."

"Do you even hear yourself?" Chris' voice cracked, as his cool façade began to slip. "You're talking about our family. _Our_ family."

"I really don't have time for this," Wyatt shrugged, pretending to study his fingernails. "I have countries to conquer, people to rule, etcetera, etcetera."

"People to kill…" Chris finished, practically spitting each word out.

"If necessary."

"You…" Chris stared at his brother in disbelief. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Who you've _hurt_? Our family is _gone_. Aunt Sheila's _dead_ – your demons killed her! _You're responsible!_"

Wyatt's eyes flickered. "A regrettable, but necessary casualty."

"How…why are you so damned cavalier about it?" Chris sputtered, anger pulsing through his veins, his voice ringing with indignation. "Don't you even care? Didn't they _mean_ anything to you?"

"They shouldn't have gotten in the way," Wyatt eyed his brother. He chided, "Just like I've warned you and Darryl and everyone else to stay out of my way. As your brother, I gave you more than fair warning, Chris."

Chris shook his head at Wyatt's words, uncomprehending. He whispered, almost desperately, "What _happened_ to you?"

"I _grew_ up, Chris," Wyatt retorted. "There's more to life than what our family taught us. There's a whole world out there, ripe for the picking. And it _owes_ us. And I'm going to take what's mine."

"I can't let you do this, Wy," Chris' voice was low. "I thought…we've gone too far now. I can't let you hurt any more people. I can't. This has to stop. This has to stop now."

"You always had to be the good one," Wyatt rolled his eyes, his tone laced with exasperation. "And just how do you propose to stop me? By appealing to my conscience? By begging me to cease? It didn't work for our family, what makes you think it will work for you?"

Letting out a shuddering breath, Chris shook his head, his forelock temporarily covering his eyes. Reaching into his back pocket, his fingers wrapped tightly around the handle, swiftly bringing the athame into sight.

"Because I intend to kill you."

* * *

"The sun is setting."

That grim observation came from Darryl's right, as Duncan continued to peer through the binoculars trained on the opposite side of the ravine. Silently acknowledging Duncan's comment with a swift nod, Darryl looked down at his watch again.

_Less than one hour to go…Les, where are you?_

A voice broke through the silence.

"I demand to speak with him! Darryl! Darryl!"

Swiftly turning in the direction of the newcomer, Darryl waved off his team, "Let him pass," Darryl nodded at the Elder. "What can I do for you, Odin?"

Jerking his robes straight, the indignant Elder replied huffily, "This isn't right. You can't just make decisions without consulting the Council."

Darryl turned his back on the Elder, hunkering back down into his position, "I don't have time for this bureaucratic nonsense."

"If you want our help, you'll make time. Why the hell did you even bother setting up a Council if you're not even going to bother to inform us of what's happening?"

Fed up with the whining and complaining, Darryl rounded on Odin, his tone deadly, "You think I need your permission to run ops? This is a military operation. I don't need your permission or anyone else's to save lives. Now why don't you crawl back into whatever hole you came from and let me do my job."

"Military operation or not, you have a duty to inform the Council of your plans. This isn't a one man show, Darryl," Odin lectured, earning him annoyed stares from the Resistance fighters within earshot.

"Go to hell. I told Chris that his idea was a stupid waste of time," Darryl muttered in an aggravated tone.

"If it's a waste of time, it's because you didn't even give his idea a chance," Odin shot back.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You think I didn't notice how you resented establishing the Council? How you didn't take any of us seriously and were completely dismissive of any ideas that were contrary to your own? It's no wonder we've been ineffective – you don't even respect our ideas!" Odin sputtered, waving his arms around to emphasize his point.

Annoyed, Darryl decided to give the Elder a piece of his mind. "And maybe if you pulled your head out of your ass every once and a while, I'd be more inclined to listen! People are dying out here, Odin! And all you, the Elders and your little clan of whitelighters do is sit on your hands and just watch it happen everyday. You take shelter behind your pathetic pacifist beliefs and leave the dirty work to the rest of us! Well, maybe Chris can look the other way, but if you want some respect, in my book you have to earn it. And until then, you're just another bureaucrat who's getting in my way."

"Chris would at least listen to us," Odin hissed.

"Well, in case you haven't noticed, Chris isn't here. And when Chris isn't here, I'm in charge. So you can either step up to the plate or you can get the hell out of my way. Your choice." Darryl stared at the Elder, his gaze determined and steady.

Odin tried to maintain Darryl's stare, but eventually let his eyes slide away, "Chris will hear about this when he gets back."

"I'm sure he will," Darryl replied, before continuing dismissively, "Are we finished here? Because in case you haven't noticed, I'm kind of busy right now trying to save your ass."

Knowing he wasn't going to be able to pursue his position any further, Odin gave Darryl a curt nod before turning on his heel and striding away without another word.

"Man, that guy is a piece of work," Duncan shook his head.

Watching Odin's back disappear around the corner, Darryl turned back to focus his attention on the matter at hand. "Never mind him. We've got bigger fish to fry."

* * *

Wyatt's eyes widened, "You can't kill me. You can't."

Chris took a menacing step forward, "I can do whatever I have to."

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wyatt hoisted himself out of his seat with considerable effort. _Still too god damned weak_. "Chris – think about what you're about to do. Can you really harm your own flesh and blood?"

"Can you?" Chris shot back, taking another step forward. His green eyes flashed angrily, "Do you think I wanted it to come to this? Why the hell did you think it took me so long to come looking for you? How long did you think that I was just going to look the other way?"

Stumbling, Wyatt reached out behind himself blindly, his hands finding the smooth wood of the oak table beneath. Supporting himself against the heavy furniture, he continued to back away slowly, his steps laboured, his breathing heavy. "You don't want to do this, Chris."

"No, no I don't," Chris took another step. "I hate that it's come to this. I thought…I thought maybe it was all a mistake. That everything you were doing…I told myself it was all just a big misunderstanding…"

"But it is, Chris," Wyatt puffed, perspiration beading on his forehead as he continued to force his weary body backwards. "It _is_ a misunderstanding. Don't you see? Don't you get it? Everything they told us was a _lie_. It's not our destiny to help those who can't even help themselves. We have the power – why the hell should we be their lackeys?"

Chris shook his head, "Maybe it's not our destiny. And maybe we have the power. But we have responsibilities. We have a duty. To our families. To our friends."

"Oh, please," Wyatt snorted in disgust. "The only responsibility we have is to ourselves, little brother. That was always your problem – putting others before yourself, just like the rest of our family. And for what? Did the Elders ever appreciate it? Did they ever _thank_ us?"

"It's not about being appreciated, Wy," Chris said sadly. "Can't you see that?"

"All I see is I'm tired of running around at their beck and call. It's time to look out for number one. Me. And the Elders and everyone else can go to hell for all I care," Wyatt shouted back between deep breaths.

Chris advanced another step, "And me? I can go to hell as well?"

"It doesn't have to be this way, Chris. You could join me. Be my right hand man," Wyatt coaxed. "We're brothers. We always have been. We always will be. You and me. We're family. Nothing changes that."

Chris laughed hollowly, almost bordering on hysteria, "Is that what you said to _our_ family before you had them killed?"

"Chris," Wyatt replied, warningly. "Don't do something you're going to regret."

Chris shook his head again. "I thought I could save you. I thought…I thought if I waited long enough, you'd come to your senses. But more and more people keep dying. There's no reasoning with you, is there?"

"My senses?" Wyatt choked, disbelieving. "_I'm_ the one that makes sense here, Chris. _I'm_ the one that finally put a stop to our family's tradition of being slaves to the Elders. I'm the one who's going to make sure the Halliwell name goes down in history!"

"For what? As a murderer and a killer of innocents? There's a family history to be proud of," Chris retorted, sarcastically. "I didn't want it to come to this, but you leave me _no choice_. I have to _stop_ you. This can't go on any longer."

"And what would mom think about what you're about to do?" Wyatt countered. "What would _mom_ say?"

Something seemed to strike a nerve in Chris, and he launched himself forward, colliding with his brother, bringing them both tumbling down to the floor. "You don't get to say her name. _You don't get to say her name!_"

Struggling, Wyatt feebly tried to push his brother off him, but to no avail. Looking up into his younger brother's berserk eyes, he felt for the first time in a very long time a hint of fear. _Would Chris really kill me? _The knife glinted in his peripheral vision, and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth in anticipation as the steel blade came down hard.

_Thunk!_

He opened one eye. Turning his head slightly, Wyatt could see that the athame was buried about five inches deep in the floor next to his head. Slowly, he swiveled his head to meet his brother's gaze. Chris' tortured eyes stared down into his brother's, and for a moment, neither moved.

"You can't kill me…" Wyatt's voice was filled with wonder. "After all that holier than thou preaching, all that do-gooder shit…you _can't_ kill me," Wyatt began to laugh condescendingly. "You pathetic, son of a bitch…"

Anger flashed through Chris' eyes, and his right hand clenched in a fist, ready to drive it into his brother's face, "Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

Gathering the last of his waning magical strength, Wyatt focused and using his powers, he _threw_ Chris off, sending him flying across the room. Chris hit the opposite wall, a sharp crack sounding as the back of his head made hard contact with the wall before his body slid down in a crumpled heap onto the floor.

Still breathing heavily and feeling dizzy, Wyatt forced himself into an upright sitting position, eyeing his brother's inert body warily. Slowly, he began to crawl, pulling himself along the floor towards the door. He was still too weak…he needed a couple of hours to fully recover and he wasn't sure how long Chris would remain unconscious.

A slight groan from the other side of the room made Wyatt glance back over his shoulder at Chris as he continued to drag himself along the ground.

The door burst open.

_Shit!_

* * *

"Are you certain you know where you're going?"

Bianca stifled the urge to strangle her companion, whispering fiercely, "Keep your voice down!" Cautiously poking her head out around the corner, she quickly pulled back before she was spotted. "We've got two demons guarding the main corridor that leads to Wyatt's private quarters."

Les frowned, "Are you absolutely certain that's where Wyatt would be?"

Bianca shrugged, "It's my best guess. For Wyatt to cast that cloaking spell, he'd want the security and privacy of his own rooms while he recovers his strength. I'd said odds are pretty good that that's where he is. And wherever Wyatt is, that's where we'll find Chris."

"Two guards, you say?" Les waited for Bianca to nod in confirmation. "Here's the thing, though," Les continued, "If Wyatt is in his quarters, and Chris is with Wyatt, and those two demons are guarding the only way in, how'd Chris get past them?"

Leaning forward again slightly to venture another look, Bianca studied the scene for a minute before flattening herself against the wall again. "I'm guessing he slipped by. It looks like their patrolling the entire corridor. There's a slight bend in the hallway. When they reach the other end of the hall, the curve should be just enough to prevent them from keeping a full view of the corridor. If we stick to the right side of the hall, we should be able to make a dash for it at the right moment and avoid detection."

Taking his own glance around the corner, Les hissed, "That's quite a lot of ifs, you know."

"You got a better idea?" Bianca glared, "I thought not. All right. On the count of three, you follow me, comprehendez?" At Les' nod, she peeked out again, keeping a close eye on the demons, "One…two…three!"

Darting out, Bianca quickly rounded the corner, with Les on her heels. The two dashed across the few metres, rounding a second corner to disappear into the wing that held Wyatt's quarters with the demons none the wiser. Thanking whatever luck was on their side, she silently gestured to Les to continue to follow her, leading him down the darkened hallway. Taking another fork to the right, she stayed pressed against the side of the wall. Stopping at the first door, she pressed her ear to it, listening. Hearing nothing, she continued moving down the hall to the next one. Waving her hand at Les, she indicated for him to do the same.

She was about to try her fourth door, when she noticed Les had stopped a ways back. Glancing over her shoulder back at him, she nodded in response to his wild gestures. Edging her way back, she cupped her hand around her ear and pressed it against the door. Exchanging an alarmed look with him, the two were startled out of their stillness. Before Les could say another word, Bianca grabbed at the door knob and shoved the door open with her shoulder, stumbling into the room.

"Chris!"

_

* * *

Out of time and out of luck, Darryl though grimly._

Bolts of energy cris-crossed overhead, as the two sides traded magical artillery back and forth. Explosions erupted around him, adding to the fiery orange of the sky at dusk. The first wave of attacks had started.

And they were fighting shadows.

Blasts of heat and fire could be felt from his position in the trenches. Their defences were futilely trying to return fire. Futilely because they couldn't see what they were aiming at...adding to the confusion, attacks had been piecemeal, savage but seemingly unconnected. _At least if the attacks were focused from one area, we'd know where to concentrate our fire_, Darryl thought. _But it's too piecemeal. I have no fucking idea where to concentrate our defences!_

The high pitched whine of an incoming fireball was the only warning they got. Hurled into the trench, the explosion smashed into the section just to the left of Darryl, sending up a geyser of dirt and burning embers. Screams and shouts arose from the fighters, as one side of trench began to collapse, the earth rapidly flooding into the ditch and burying several men alive.

"Get them out of there!" Darryl shouted, waving his hand at one of the team leaders closet to the collapsed section. "Dig them out!"

A group of Resistance fighters frantically began searching through the dirt, digging with their hands and whatever tools were available, as they desperately sought their buried comrades. Darryl turned his face away from the grisly scene, and cursed as ground shook violently beneath his feet. Darryl yelled, signalling Duncan, "Hit the deck!"

Smoke rose all around, the steady impact of the explosions lifting a cloud of dirt, temporarily veiling Darryl's sight of the battlefield. Covering his nose with his sleeve, he could feel his eyes water as the dust and smoke irritated his eyes. The thundering of the explosions grew in intensity and frequency…indicating to Darryl that the demons had stepped up the assault.

"What do we do, Darryl?" Duncan yelled to be heard over the firefight. "What do we do?"

Knowing Duncan was bordering on panic, Darryl gave the only answer he knew, "Tell everyone to hold their position!"

* * *

"Chris!"

Chris looked up from his prone position on the floor, his head pounding. Gently touching the back of his head, he winced as his fingers found a tender spot, "What?"

Bianca rushed over, wrapping her arms around Chris' torso to help him into a sitting position with Les' crossbow still trained on her. "Would you aim that thing someplace else, already?"

"And where exactly do you think I should aim it?" Les asked, sardonically. He paled as he followed the direction of Bianca's nod, finally noticing Wyatt on the opposite side of the room. "Holy shit!"

Struggling to his feet with the support of Bianca, Chris jerked himself away from the assassin as soon as he found his bearings. He ignored the hurt look in her expression, his heart hardening, "What the fuck are you two doing here?"

"We came to get you," Bianca said, softly. "The Resistance needs you. Now."

His eyes zeroed in on Wyatt's, who stared back defiantly. "I'll be right out. My brother and I have a bit of business to settle."

Wyatt sneered, "You can't kill me, Chris. You never could."

"Shut the fuck up," Les ordered, looking through his sights at the fallen man. "He may not be able to, but I sure as hell can."

Wyatt glared at Les, "You would dare?"

"Les!" Chris warned, before Les could retort. "Wait outside. This is between Wyatt and me."

Snapping his mouth shut, Les turned to look at Chris, "Chris. Wyatt's cast some sort of spell. The demons are cloaked. We can't see them. They're trying to take the train station. We need to get out of here and back to the train station. Now."

Chris shook his head, "I need to finish this."

Bianca placed a hand on Chris' shoulder, "Les is right. We need to get out of here. Now. Your friends can't fight what they can't see. They need you to break the spell."

"I said, I need to finish this," Chris jerked his shoulder away from her touch.

"You don't want to do this, Chris," Bianca tried to reason with him. "You know you don't."

"He's right, Chris. You don't want to do this. I know you. You won't be able to live with yourself if you do this. No matter what else, he's still your brother," Les reasoned.

Chris looked at Les incredulously, "You want us to just leave?"

Les shook his head, "I want you to leave. Leave Wyatt to me. Go. Get out of here – go break the spell. Our friends need you."

Bianca watched silently at the tug of war between the two friends over Wyatt's fate, "We don't have time for this. His demons could find us any minute!"

Chris shook his head. "He won't call for them. Not when he's still weak, will you Wyatt?"

Getting to his feet slowly, perspiration dripping down his face and pooled on the floor. "I don't need my demons to protect me, if that's what you're asking," Wyatt said in a deadly tone, the implied threat of which was lost due to the enormous effort it obviously took him to stand up. "I can take care of all of you by myself."

Waving his hand, Chris used his telekinesis to smack his brother against the wall. He watched coldly as Wyatt crumpled to the floor in an exhausted heap. "Why don't you have a seat? This could take a while."

"Chris, the spell," Les urged, alarmed at the coldness in Chris' eyes. "We gotta go."

"Wait outside," Chris ordered, his eyes never leaving his brother's body. "This is my responsibility."

"Chris –," Les tried again.

"I _said_, wait outside."

Whatever Les saw in Chris' face, convinced him that there was no reasoning with him. "Fine. I'll stand guard outside. But just remember – we need to get out of here, now. We don't have time for petty sibling rivalry." His voice short, Les left, shutting the door behind him softly.

Striding forward with long, confident strides, Chris wrapped his fist around Wyatt's collar, pulling him into a sitting position. Positioning the knife against his brother's throat, he said impassively, "Break the spell. Now."

Wyatt spat in Chris' face. "Go to hell."

Smashing his fist into Wyatt's face, Chris replied, "You first." Pressing the athame deeper against Wyatt's skin, a small bead of blood began to form on Wyatt's neck. "Break the spell. Or I'll cut your throat."

"You can't kill me," Wyatt laughed in disbelief. "You promised mom. Do you remember? Do you?"

Chris' hand shook. "I remember."

"Go ahead then. Kill me," Wyatt taunted, his eyes mocking. "You can't, can you?"

Chris looked down into his brother's triumphant eyes, seeing his mother's reflected back at him. _I promised. I promised Mom that family always comes first. Always. So where does that leave me?_

Wyatt laughed so hard, he almost choked, "You're pathetic."

Chris sat back on his heels. "You're right. I can't kill you. But I can make you break that spell. And I will."

And for the first time, Wyatt looked at Chris in real fear.

* * *

"Hold your position!" Quentin yelled, as he tried to make himself heard over the commotion.

The firefight was brutal; the ground shook and trembled, swords flashed, arrows flew and men died. Cut off from the other teams, Quentin couldn't make sense of the chaotic scene playing out in front of him. As the thundering of the explosions inched closed, he knew that the demons were pushing forward.

Leaping up from his crouching position, he let out a yell and charged forward, knowing his team would follow him. Pushing the rising fear in his throat back down, he swung his sword blindly, hoping that it would connect with something…anything.

It did.

Acting instinctively, he guessed the demon's approximate position. His eyes focused on the dirt beneath, seeing the dust kicked up by the demon's movements. He watched the footwork carefully, blocking blindly, knowing that at any moment, the demon could make a move he couldn't guess….

His sword rang with a metal _clang! _as it connected with the enemy's. Swinging wildly, he fought with a fury that he'd never felt before. He jumped back and thrust his sword threatening in front of him.

Luck was with him.

His sword connected with something soft, and gritting his teeth, Quentin pushed his sword through, hearing the death knell of the demon's scream as he yanked his weapon free.

Gasping heavily, he looked around him. As most battles did, the formations had dissolved into smaller, ugly skirmishes around the field. It seemed like his team would valiantly surge forward and then fall back before pushing forward again. All he knew was that they had to hold their position.

Raising his arm to rally his team, Quentin opened his mouth to give the command.

_Pain! _

Quentin fell to the ground.

Transfixed by arrows, he resembled a human pincushion. His clothes absorbed the blood from his wounds, forming rapidly growing circles whose circumferences increased at a frightening rate. White, hot pain seared through his veins. He lay unmoving on the ground, helpless as he watched his friends continue to be cut down where they stood, falling all around him. Racked with agony, he was unable to move or even cry for help. All he could do was lie there, each shuddering breath sending tremendous pain shooting along his nerve endings.

He knew he was dying. Sweating, he closed his ears against the pitiful cries that filled the air from his fallen comrades. He was going to die alone, in this god-forsaken place…and he sought comfort in the only way he knew. He closed his eyes…

_Our father, who art in heaven… _

* * *

Bianca watched all of this unfold in front of her. One look at Chris' face and she knew…she _knew_…

"Chris – let me do this," Bianca coaxed. "You shouldn't have to."

"I can do anything I set my mind to," Chris bit out, angrily.

Bianca didn't back down, "We're talking about torture. Something you've never done before."

"I'm a real fast learner," Chris replied, derisively.

"This isn't something you want to learn," Bianca placed her hand over Chris'. "This isn't something to be taken lightly."

He looked at Bianca defiantly, "I said I'll do it."

"Chris –," Bianca tried one last time.

"If you want me to trust you, you'll do as I say," Chris dismissed, coldly. "Your choice."

Searching his eyes for some sign of wavering, and finding none, Bianca nodded slowly. Her eyes slid over to Wyatt, where outrage warred with anger on his face. She knew the strong emotions he projected were a mask to hide his fear.

She could see it in his eyes.

_Oh Chris_, she thought sadly, _don't you see? There's no going back now._ Knowing now why Chris hadn't asked her to leave as he had Les, she took a deep breath. She gazed down into Wyatt's eyes, before driving her fist deep into his chest. "Hold still," she commanded, as she began to drain his powers and effectively holding him in place.

Wyatt gritted his teeth, biting out, "You forget. I know you, Chris. You don't have it in you, little brother."

"Trust me, you're not in any position to know anything," Chris replied. Taking the athame, he stabbed Wyatt in the leg, his face impassive as his brother howled in pain. Bianca flinched as she watched Chris drive the knife deeper, twisting the blade so that it tore his brother's flesh. Blood oozed from the wound, running onto the floor leaving a small pool growing beneath Wyatt's right leg. Chris' voice was harsh, "Break the spell. Now."

"Go to hell. Traitor!" Wyatt gasped, as he struggled weakly beneath Bianca's hold. "I'll kill you myself for this!"

"I going to say it again, break the spell," Chris snapped, his voice dripping with ice. Bianca was alarmed to see that Chris' eyes seemed to gleam with zeal. She watched as Chris pulled the blade free from Wyatt's leg, and with a malicious intent Bianca would never have believed if she hadn't witnessed it herself, Chris brought the knife back down into the same wound.

Wyatt screamed, before biting through his lower lip in pain, his legs kicking out weakly beneath Bianca's vice grip. He was panting heavily, "When I get free…"

Chris gave the knife a quick twist, "I don't have all day. Tell me what I want to know."

Averting her eyes, she was nauseatingly aware of red pulp seeping into the ground underneath them. She had killed many times during her stint as an assassin, but she had never, _never_, tortured anyone. She didn't have the stomach for it. And she wouldn't have thought Chris did, either. She glanced at Chris' expression; distressed to see his green eyes so dark they appeared almost black.

"I won't ask you again," Chris jerked the knife free none too gently. Blood dripped down the blade onto the floor. Getting up, he strode over to the fireplace, warming the knife. Chris turned back to look at his brother as he removed the knife from the fire and regarded the white hot tip thoughtfully. "Break the spell."

As Chris began to slowly approach him, Wyatt's eyes widened in panicked terror. Gasping, "Fine. Fine! I'll break the damn spell! I'll break it!"

Bianca jerked her fist out of Wyatt's chest. "You heard him. Do it. Now."

Wyatt glared at the assassin as he began to mutter under his breath. Finished, he lay unmoving on the floor, panting. "It's done. This doesn't change anything, you know. Happy now, little brother?"

"Ecstatic," Chris replied, before driving the white hot knife into Wyatt's leg wound.

"Chris," Bianca yanked at his arm as Wyatt howled and then sobbed with pain. "What are you doing?"

Chris stared at Bianca like he had never seen her before. He looked at his brother, writhing on the floor in agony, moaning as tears of pain seeping from his eyes. Chris jerked the knife free and stumbled back at the expression of a hatred so pure it distorted Wyatt's face.

"You son of a bitch," Wyatt said, his tone deathly quiet. "In the end – you're just like me, little brother. You think you're so much better than me. But look at you! Look at yourself! You loved that I was helpless, you loved the power you felt over me, didn't you? You feel it, don't you? Coursing through your veins?" Wyatt laughed maniacally. "You're just like me. _You're just like me!_"

Les suddenly burst into the room, "Chris – I just made contact with Darryl. The spell's been broken. They need us! We've got to go! Now!" His mouth dropped open as he suddenly realized what was going on. "What the – ?"

"Chris! We need to leave. Now," Bianca grabbed Chris' arm in an attempt to shake him to his senses.

Chris whipped his head around to stare into Bianca's face. His expression could have been chiselled from stone, so stoic and completely impassive. Only his eyes seemed to show any signs of life, boring into hers with an unholy light. Worried that her whispered plea would fall on deaf ears, she pleaded hoarsely, "Chris…Chris, _please_. You heard Les. We have to go. We…we don't have time for this."

Bianca observed as Chris blinked, seemingly absorbing her words. She saw a flash of something in Chris' eyes, shuttering briefly before they turned a brilliant green. She asked, rather hesitantly, "Chris?"

"You're right," Chris stood up abruptly, his gaze on his brother sprawled on the ground. "We don't have time for this." Ignoring his brother's hysterical laughter, Chris turned his back on his brother.

Without glancing at Les, Chris turned to exit the room, "Come on. We've got friends to save."

"Chris?" Les blanched, keeping his eyes averted from Wyatt who continued to hoarsely laugh uncontrollably. "What about him?"

"When he calms down, he'll heal himself," Chris replied, evenly. "He's always had the ability to heal." Without a backwards glance, Chris exited, with Bianca close behind.

Turning to follow Chris out the room, Les looked over his shoulder one last time at the twice blessed, his mind noticing the bloody mess, Wyatt's wound and Chris' bloody knife.

_What the hell just happened?_

* * *

To be continued…. 


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Sorry for the long lag time – unfortunately, I always find writing 'action' scenes incredibly difficult; hence, the slightly shorter chapter. Also, I think this is near the end, folks. One more chapter or so, and then I'm done, done, done!

Thanks go to:

HauntedPast, charmed ravenclaw, chattypandagurl (welcome back!), IcantthinkofaFnick, ilovedrew88, DrewFullerFanLife, Sparkling Cherries and Zeria (In answer (sort of) to your question – the 'darker' tone was due to the influence of watching _24_.)

**Providence **

**Chapter 14**

_Hope in a world like this? Naïve, stupid and crazy – to say the least. And yet, when he speaks, we all listen. When he gives orders, we all follow. While he hopes, we don't give up. I'm not sure which one I fall under, but I'm beginning to suspect it's all three.  
-_from the memoirs of Leslie St. Claire

* * *

Pandemonium ruled.

There were moments that evening when Darryl thought everything looked lost. The two sides met head-on, with a ferocity neither side had experienced before. Everywhere he looked, their people were being cut down, left, right and centre. They wielded their weapons clumsily on the battlefield, hampered by the invisibility of the enemy. Screams and panicked yells sounded in the air, yet the troops stubbornly fought on.

Wyatt's plan had been simple – he'd had his army attack on three points; to the west, to the east and through the middle. It was obvious that he had wanted the middle front to divide the Resistance's forces straight down the middle and then bracket them from both sides, effectively cutting them off.

Darryl was positioned far back from the front lines – as field commander he couldn't risk getting too near the front, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Looking through his binoculars, his eyes were trained on the chaos of the battlefield below. Without shifting his focus, he said to Jack, one of the telepaths, "Tell the left to wheel."

Jack frowned, closing his eyes as he 'sent' the message to his telepathic counterpart. Almost immediately, Slick's team began closing in from their position, pushing forward to the centre.

"Pull them in, now!" Darryl commanded, his attention completely focused on the scene playing out in front of him. Relayed by Jack, the team began to pivot on the centre, creating an opening just to the left of the centre. As he hoped, the demons encouraged by the sign of the humans falling back, pushed forward eagerly.

And quickly found themselves in three to four feet of water and mud.

Darryl allowed himself a small grin of satisfaction as the illusion he'd had Quentin's group lay earlier achieved its objective. Although still cloaked, the mud was clinging to the invisible demons, making it difficult for the demons to manoeuvre and making it easier for the Resistance to approximate the demons' positions as the mud was mucked about. A barrage of arrows from the back were released, arching elegantly over the heads of the Resistance fighters' and burying themselves in the chests of many demons stuck in the mud pit. Those demons struck by arrows let out a small shriek, reappearing abruptly as a flash of fire consumed them, vanquishing them.

"Darryl, there's a situation on the right side!" Jack's eyes were still closed in concentration, "Duncan's team is being overrun!"

"Get Michael and DJ's group to back them up," Darryl shouted over the noise of the fight and the shrieking of fireballs being hurled from the other side. "We can't afford to lose the point!"

Jack nodded, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he frowned again. "Zach's team needs back up! He can't hold the line!" Jack put his hands to his head, his fingertips pushing at his brow, "Quentin's team is down! They're down, Darryl! Slick's being pushed back – we can't hold. _We can't hold!_"

Darryl stared sightlessly out at the black mushroom clouds rising from the earth, the small fires that littered the landscape and the endless bodies of his friends covering the ground.

_Chris…where are you?_

Swallowing hard, Darryl turned towards Jack and opened his mouth to give the order to retreat. It didn't matter that holding the train station was a matter of life or death. There was no way they were going to be able to take it; it was now simply a matter of a slow death by thirst or an immediate death by the hands of the demons. "Jack, tell them…tell everyone to pull bac–,"

A sudden cheer arose from the Resistance, causing Darryl to whip his head around.

The demons were visible.

Confused, the demons looked around, quickly realizing that their cover was gone. The Resistance, energized by the sight of the enemy and no longer frustrated by slashing at shadows, let out a roar of battle-rage. Without having to give an order, the teams suddenly pushed forward, ferociously attacking the enemy at hand.

"Chris must have broken the spell," Darryl said, in bemusement.

Grabbing his sword, Jack swooped up a helmet and jammed it on his head. Leaping up, he yelled over his shoulder as he disappeared from Darryl's sight, "I'm going in!"

Nodding his head, Darryl snatched up a nearby crossbow and scrambled after the other man.

And for the first time that day, he felt a renewed sense of hope.

* * *

Elsewhere, Bianca too was studying the scene unfolding in front of _her_. A random shot came from the thickets on her left, the side of the road that lead away from where they needed to go.

"Get down!" Les hissed, yanking on Chris' arm and nearly dislocating his shoulder to pull the young man down next to him behind a couple of conveniently located boulders.

Because the dead zone extended just past the train station, they had been forced to orb in behind enemy lines. In fact, they were positioned just behind Wyatt's forces of demons, and through sheer luck, had managed, so far, to avoid detection.

The battle was well underway. Even from their position, Bianca could see that the two sides were locked in a deadly exchange of life and death. Brilliant colours of red and orange lit up the night sky. Debris from explosions filled the air, raining down small pellets everywhere as fireballs were traded back and forth. Smoke filled her nostrils, making her cough uncontrollably until she covered her nose with her sleeve. She glanced over at her two companions, noticing that both had their sleeves over the lower half of their faces as well. "So what now?"

Chris nodded grimly; his fingers still tightly clenched around the athame, "Let's do this." Without a second glance, he jumped up from their hiding spot and charged forward, leaving the two behind him, gaping in stunned astonishment.

"What? No plan? No, 'Les, you take the left and I'll take the right?'" Les sputtered, shouting after his friend. He blinked in surprise as another blur passed by in his peripheral vision.

"Come on!" Bianca shouted back at Les over her shoulder, her voice filled with more than a hint of mockery, as she too leapt forward to join the fray. "What are you waiting for? An invitation?"

Picking up his crossbow, he groaned, chasing after the other two. "I knew I should have called in sick today…"

* * *

Bodies pressed in on all sides of him. He had lost track of Bianca and Les a long time ago. That was okay. He needed some time alone.

If you could call being surrounded by hundreds of demons on a battlefield, alone.

_Just once_, Chris thought shakily as he used his telekinesis to throw a bunch of demons back, _just once I'd like things to go my way! If anyone is listening up there, Mom, Grandpa, Aunt Phoebe, Aunt Paige…hell, even Dad!…I could really use some luck right now!_

Chris had rushed headlong into the confused chaos, finding himself quickly surrounded by demons. Battling his way towards the middle, he used his telekinesis ruthlessly and efficiently, hurling demons out of his path. Five demons converged on him and he dove to his left, rolling and managing to pick up an abandoned axe as he came to his feet. He bashed in the skull of one demon with the stick end before cleaving another in half with the blade.

A sword flashed, appearing seemingly out of nowhere and he barely managed to avoid it before kicking in the teeth of its owner. He slashed clumsily with the axe, grimacing as it missed its intended target and only served to infuriate the demon more. It launched itself at him and he somersaulted over, using his telekinesis to help him. Landing neatly on his feet, he whirled, effectively severing one of the demon's arms from its torso. Ignoring its shrieks of pain, he back-pedaled, just missing his nose from being cut off from the last demon attacker. It glanced to its left and then its right, suddenly realizing it was the only one of its 'friend's left standing. Chris pulled his lips back in a snarl and before he could growl a taunt, the demon abruptly turned tail and ran away.

About to push forward again, Chris realized that that demon wasn't the only one turning coward and fleeing away as fast as he could. Through the swirls of dust and smoke, Chris could see that the Resistance was gaining ground. Obviously, the loss of the cloaking spell had put a huge dent in the demons attack. In the surrounding mayhem, he saw a flash of a familiar face – "Zach!" His friend momentarily diverted his attention towards Chris, his face lighting up with recognition. Chris waved at the lines of demons breaking rank and heading for the west, even casting aside weapons in order to run away faster. Already, some of the Resistance fighters were giving chase, carried away by their battle-fever. "Zach! Get those fools back here, for Christ's sake!" Chris cursed, as Zach nodded.

The massed frontal assault on the Resistance had been met by the desperate defence efforts. But at an enormous cost. Everywhere he looked, the dead and injured littered the battlefield.

But they had won.

Barely.

* * *

The fight was nearly over. The loss of their cloaking had thrown the demons for a loop and given the Resistance newfound energy. Poor coordination and lack of cooperation was resulting in an offensive attack that quickly descended into chaos. As the demons realized that their offensive advantage was gone, they began to retreat, fleeing the scene, unwilling to put their lives on the line.

That only served to resolve the Resistance's vigour. Bianca admired the grit and determination of the Resistance as they continued to push forward, chasing the demons down.

With a flick of her wrist, she released the throwing knife from her wrist sheath, smiling in satisfaction as she brought a demon down, clutching its leg painfully. Before the demon could recover, she swooped in and with a quick twist of her arms, she heard that satisfying _crack_ sound as she broke its neck. Scooping up her victim's weapon, her mind registered the weight and the length of the sword as she quickly gave it a couple of practice thrusts. _No time for that now_, she thought to herself before, out of the corner of her eye, she saw another demon try to rush her.

Whirling around, she smiled with grim humour as her sword met the soft flesh of the demon and it immediately burst into flames. _This is almost too easy_, she scoffed to herself. Joining the edge of melee, she swung the sword fiercely, almost relieved to be putting her skills to use to what she did best. _Now this! This is what I was trained to do!_

She danced and skipped, fairly _flying _through her attacks with the agility and the grace of a deadly ballet dancer. Her blood sang with anticipation as she felled her enemies one by one. In the back of her mind, she admired her own handiwork, experiencing a sick sense of pride as she neatly decapitated one demon before hacking another one completely in half. It didn't matter that they were demons or that she was fighting on the side of the Resistance. All that mattered was that she was once again _doing_ what she had been born to do.

Out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention. Almost lost in the haze of bloodlust running through her veins, she nearly missed it.

It was Les.

Fighting valiantly against a demon, who, judging from her experienced eyes, was a much better swordsman than Les. She reluctantly admitted to herself that Les was giving a good account of himself, using the crossbow to desperately block the demon's vicious blows, but it was clear he wasn't going to last long.

_If you hurt him, I'll kill you. _

_He doesn't feel the same way. How could he? You're a cold-blooded killer…Just so we're clear._

Here was her chance. He wasn't her friend – she had no obligation to look after him. All she had to do was look away. And her chief irritant, her biggest opponent – would be taken care of. And mostly through no fault of her own.

She watched impassively as he stumbled to the ground and the demon stalked towards him threateningly.

She saw the demon smile evilly as his sword pierced Les' leg and Les screamed in pain.

She looked on as the demon laughed mockingly as he raised his sword over his head, ready to deliver the deathblow.

_Oh for Christ's sake!_, she thought.

Unable to help herself, she launched herself desperately at them, hoping that she'd be able to intercept in time. She did better than that; her sword meeting the demon's with a metal _clang!_ Shooting a quick glance at Les, she noticed he had presence of mind to roll out of the way, his hands wrapped around his wounded leg.

Turning her gaze back to the demon, Bianca narrowed her eyes. Slowly, she backed away, her gaze focused on the demon in front of her. She hunkered down into a half-crouch, eyeing the demon like an experienced street fighter.

The demon leaped at her and they tumbled together into a heap; she rolled, cursing as the demon's sword managed to slash a shallow cut across her forearm as she moved too slowly. Coming to her feet, she brought her sword around up over her head into a deadly arc, slicing viciously at the demon's head. He blocked, snarling as their swords broke free and they returned to circling each other warily. He sneered, "First blood."

She feinted, concentrating on the demon's eyes, knowing that they would tell her what his next move would be…

He charged her unexpectedly, forcing her to duck and roll again. Leaping back up onto her feet, she scrambled back, faltering a little as she desperately tried to move out of the way. The demon's mouth pulled back in a toothless grin, sure that he had the assassin cornered. Slowly he advanced upon her, his sword swaying menacingly from side to side before he swung it ferociously at her head.

She evaded the attack but acquired two more bone bruises on her left arm as she blocked his kicks. Her arm throbbed with pain, doing nothing to calm her temper. _That's it! Enough of this defensive shit. This arrogant bastard needs to be shown just who's the better fighter here._

"My turn, you bastard," she spat back, ignoring the blood welling from her wound and dripping slowly down her arm. He drove at her, and instead of jumping back in a defensive crouch _away_ from the blow like any novice knew to do, she lunged _into_ it – thrusting upward with all her might. She felt the searing pain of his sword as it glanced off her shoulder, catching the tail end of the descent of the weapon. Grimacing, she kept pushing upwards as her sword found its mark, hearing a scream like nothing she'd ever heard before, as she separated the demon's head from the rest of his body. She jerked her sword free, "Last blood, you piece of shit."

The adrenaline fading, and with it, the full force of pain from her severed nerve endings came screaming back. She cradled her bleeding arm, folding up around it protectively. She started as she felt a gentle touch on her good shoulder.

Les had painfully crawled on his hands, dragging himself from his fallen position to collapse next to Bianca. He cradled his left leg painfully, as he struggled into a sitting position next to his saviour, "Thanks."

She snorted slightly. "Your sword technique needs work."

"Excuse me?"

"You're clumsy, slow and inefficient. You've survived this long due to luck as far as I can see," Bianca shrugged. "You're damn lucky I was around to save your butt. Next time you won't be so lucky."

"Your welcome."

She shook her head, puzzled by his response. "Huh?"

"I said, 'thank you.' You respond, 'your welcome.' People call it being polite," Les pointed out mildly. He looked down at his heavily bleeding leg, asking hopefully, "Think we could get a whitelighter over here to fix us up?"

She looked at him, as if weighing her reply, "Looks like things are pretty much finishing up. We should be able to get some attention soon."

Les's eyes unfocused, as he mindsent for help, "They'll get to us as soon as they get to those with critical wounds first."

"Fine," Bianca replied crisply, still coddling her tender arm and shoulder.

"Fine."

The two sat in uncomfortable silence, watching as the rest of the Resistance finished driving the rapidly retreating demons off, unsure of what else to way to each other.

Bianca thought about all the events that had happened today. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to cut Les some slack. After all, he _had_ thanked her. She turned to face him, his eyes popping open at the sound of her movement. A peace offering was definitely due.

Maybe it was time to bury the hatchet…so to speak.

Her tone was grudging, "Your welcome."

He laughed.

* * *

Whitelighters were scattered throughout, healing those they could and comforting those they could not.

Chris leaned heavily against a nearby rock, his head hanging. There was a long shallow gash in his leg and multiple nicks and cuts along his arms, all bleeding lightly. He couldn't recall how he had gotten any of them.

God, he was tired.

He glanced up at the sound of his name being called.

Les, his eyes looking unnaturally white with his face covered with grim and soot, "You should get that looked at…"

"I'm fine," Chris replied curtly.

"Still…"

"I said I'm fine!" Chris snapped, irritated. "Just tell me what our status is."

"The demons retreated – the whitelighters are treating the wounded now. Looks like upwards of 15 per cent in casualties. I won't know more solid numbers till we get back to base," Les looked over his shoulder at the battle scene. "What do you want me to do?"

Rubbing his forehead wearily, Chris tried to gather his wits, "We need to get the wounded back to base ASAP. Who's team is the most intact?"

Les closed his eyes, concentrating for a moment as he took a quick survey, "DJ's team seems to be the least injured. Mostly superficial wounds and they only have a couple dead."

Chris straightened, "Good. Tell him his team's in charge of holding our position. I want a whitelighter assigned to his team to fix whoever they can on site. Get him to establish a firm perimeter within the hour and I want a roving scout team as support. Got it?"

Les nodded, "Done. Anything else?"

Chris shook his head, "Nothing a good week's worth of sleep can't cure."

Les turned to walk away, limping slightly and favouring his right leg, before pausing and turning back, asking, "What happened back there, Chris? Back at Wyatt's?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Chris replied gruffly.

"Look," Les said, rather impatiently, "I can guess what happened. It was pretty obvious. Kid - you only did what you had to do,"

Chris snorted, "No, I chose to do it. There's a difference,"

"Sometimes…sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for the right reason," Les offered. "Sometimes…you have to make a compromise."

"Thanks for your blessing. I certainly feel better now," Chris said, sarcastically.

"You did what you thought you had to do to save your friends and family," Les counselled impatiently. "No one can fault you for that."

Chris scoffed, "Good to know."

Exasperated, Les threw his arms up in the air. It was useless to argue on a subject neither would ever agree on. "Look – I just wanted you to know…I understand. And if you need someone to talk to about it…"

"I don't," Chris said, rather shortly.

Unable to get Chris to meet his eyes, Les finally looked away in frustration. "Fine. I'll see you back at base, okay?" Receiving no response, Les sighed and walked away.

"Les – wait…" Chris called, watching as Les' back stiffened before he turned around to face him. "Look – I…"

"Yeah, Chris?" Les waited expectantly.

Chris opened his mouth, before snapping it shut. Mumbling, "It's…it's nothing. I'll see you back at base."

"All right."

He needed to get away. Turning abruptly in the opposite direction, Chris began to push himself forward, into the nearby forest. His heart pumping, the blood pounding, he started to hyperventilate. Stumbling into the woods, he latched out for purchase, finding himself grabbing hold of a large tree.

_You did what you thought you had to do to save your friends and family._

_No one can fault you for that._

His mother's voice rang in his ears.

_Family comes first, Chris._

The pain in his chest tightened, and pushing himself away from the tree, he crouched over, his arms resting on his knees, his head down. He cringed, remembering Wyatt's painful screams and eyes wild with pure hatred. He had done that. He had done that to his _own_ brother. He had known when he had first set out what the likely result would be. Murder, probably. His own death, a very likely possibility. But he hadn't gone in thinking he wouldn't be able to eliminate his brother for the greater good. He hadn't thought that his promise to his mother would reassert itself so strongly. And he hadn't thought he would have to torture his brother instead.

'Have to' being the operative phrase. Had he really had no other choice? Had there really been no other way to break the spell?

Chris wasn't so sure.

Maybe…maybe he _should_ have killed Wyatt…maybe…maybe that would have been better.

Or in some ways, easier.

_You're just like me. You're JUST like me._

He retched at the thought, tasting the salty bile on his tongue as he emptied what little was in his stomach. Disgusted with himself, he leaned heavily against the tree trunk, trying to take deep, even breaths. Cool hands cupped his head, holding him steady. A cup of water appeared in front of him. His hands were trembling so much that the water sloshed over the brim of the cup and Bianca's hands came up to cover his in order to steady it. Carefully, she helped him bring the cup to his mouth, and he swallowed greedily, revelling in the feel of the cool water sliding down his raw throat.

"It's called shock."

He arched an eyebrow at her in question.

"Your trembling hands, the retching…You're experiencing shock," Bianca gently explained.

"I know what shock is," Chris said dismissively. "I'm not some country yokel. I've fought in more than my fair share of battles. I hardly think anything I saw out there today would cause me shock."

"No," Bianca agreed. "But your reactions are consistent with delayed reaction."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me now what this delayed reaction is to?" Chris scoffed.

Bianca shrugged. "To what happened this afternoon."

"I don't have to listen to this," Chris crossed his arms defensively, glaring at Bianca.

"No. No, you don't," she said simply.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He admitted grudgingly, "He was right, you know." At Bianca's questioning look, Chris said softly, reflecting, "I am just like him."

"Who? Wyatt?" Bianca shook her head. "You can't possibly believe that."

Chris snorted.

"You're not a killer…at least of humans, anyways. Isn't that what you told me? Unless something's changed since we last talked?" Bianca arched her eyebrow in question. Receiving no response, she continued, "Look, take it from someone who knows a little something about walking on the dark side…and you might have flirted with it, but it wasn't anything more than a one night stand."

"I think you lost me somewhere with the dating analogy…" Chris rolled his eyes.

"We all have to make sacrifices…some good, some bad. We don't always get to know which kind they are until we've made them," Bianca explained, searching for the right words to comfort him. Her heart ached for this young man. "And sometimes…sometimes we make really bad ones."

"So you're saying what I did was okay given the circumstances?" Chris said, sardonically. "Good to know I have your blessing too."

"Too?"

Chris gave a harsh laugh, his tone dripping with sarcasm, "Les couldn't tell me fast enough that I did what I had to do. That I did it for our family and friends. Guess that makes me a hero, eh?"

She heard the cynicism in his voice, but more, she read the self-recrimination and guilt bubbling beneath the surface. She knew that telling Chris that he had made the right choice, as Les had, would only infuriate Chris further. He was angry, angry at the situation, angry at his actions and most of all, angry with himself. As she watched him wrestle with his guilt and frustration, she knew he needed to hear the truth. Chris didn't need sympathy or a pat on the back. He didn't need someone to put him on a pedestal and excuse his actions as part of a higher purpose.

What he needed was someone who understood what he had done and what it had cost him.

He needed someone who could see his faults and accept them as a part of him.

He needed someone who understood that it was done, and the only option left was to continue forward.

He needed someone who…understood.

"No. What I'm saying is – what you did…your actions…it _was_ unacceptable," Bianca let her words sink in, giving him the raw truth. She watched his reaction carefully, knowing her words stung.

Chris visibly flinched.

Bianca placed her hand gently on his arm, before saying gently, "But that doesn't mean _you_ are unacceptable."

He jerked his head up, meeting her eyes. And saw the same tortured expression in hers. The same knowledge of choices made and done.

The same regret.

"Bianca, I –,"

A voice interrupted, "Chris!"

They both turned towards the newcomer; Chris, slightly irritated by the interruption, his tone clipped, "Yes?"

It was Zach. Dirty, sweaty, and breathing heavily. His forehead bore a bruise and there was a shiner forming under his left eye. But otherwise he appeared unscathed. Ignoring Bianca, he directed his gaze to Chris, "I just talked to Les. Chris, the next twenty-four hours are critical. We're going to need that bridge up and running."

Running his hand through his hair, Chris threw Bianca an apologetic look before stepping forward to deal with this new complication, "Touch base with Duncan. He was suppose to have everything in place the last time I talked to him." At Zach's questioning look, "I had Duncan organize a team of engineers back at base build most of the bridge in sections. We just need the whitelighters to orb the pieces here and you should be able to slam together the new construct in under three hours. Coordinate with Duncan and Quentin, will you?"

Chris turned to move away when Zach called for him to wait. Turning back with just a touch of exasperation, Chris sighed, "Yeah?"

Zach's eyes were focused on something to the left of Chris as he spoke, "I guess you didn't hear…"

"What didn't I hear?" Chris asked impatiently.

Still unable to meet Chris' gaze, Zach looked out across the now still battlefield, "It's Quentin. Chris – he didn't make it."

"Jesus," Chris rubbed his face wearily, closing his eyes. He shook his head, saying quietly, "God damn it all."

Knowing Chris wasn't looking at him, Zach nodded unnecessarily, saying, before taking his leave, "I'll touch base with Duncan and get things coordinated." Without waiting for a response, Zach pivoted on his heel and left.

Clearing her throat awkwardly, Bianca said to Chris regretfully, "I'm sorry. I know he was your friend."

Chris didn't reply for several minutes. Collecting himself, he finally opened his eyes to meet hers. His eyes were a brilliant emerald green. His voice was low and thick, "You'll have to excuse me, I need to coordinate with Darryl on our next moves."

She had half expected such a reaction. Like her, he was use to hiding his emotions behind a mask. She nodded slowly, saying merely, "I understand."

His eyes widened slightly at her cryptic response before narrowing, "I'll make sure someone takes you back to base." He began to head back in the direction of the trenches.

"Is that because you still don't trust me?" Bianca called after him, her voice taunting.

He paused, but didn't turn around, "No, that's because I'm afraid someone might hurt you. It's for your own protection, Bianca. There will be quite a few people who won't be happy that a former assassin and follower of Wyatt's is now one of us. And there will be even more people who will be sure it's a trick."

She swallowed audibly, before saying with false bravado, "I can take care of myself."

Chris continued walking away, "I'll send Slick to get you. Don't go _anywhere_ without him. Period."

"Didn't you hear a word I just said?" Bianca yelled indignantly, slightly insulted that he didn't think she could handle herself all the while her common sense was screaming at her to _shut up!_

Chris gave her a little wave goodbye without even bothering to turn around, "Your welcome."

Left alone on the outskirts of the Resistance's activity, Bianca grumbled to herself. Once again, the familiar thought rose in her mind, abet with significantly less rancour than previously…

_Bastard._

And her lips curled into a slight begrudging smile.

* * *

To be continued….. 


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Finally – this is the last chapter for this story as I think the story thread ends nicely here. Here's hoping you think so too.

**Thanks go to:**

Charmed ravenclaw: I think so too. Thanks for the review!

Chattypanndagurl: I may 'revisit' Chris and Bianca again another time. I've left the ending open for me to do so but first, I have to overhaul _Redundant_ as promised. Thanks so much for the wonderful comments.

Miaka Summers: You hit the proverbial nail on its head. I'm so glad to hear that their relationship read the way I wanted it to. Thanks for the feedback!

IcantthinkofaFnick: As usual? I'm not sure about that…glad you could identify with my treatment of the Bianca character. I really wanted to write her as strong and capable but vulnerable, and it looks from your comments that it sort of worked. Thanks again for all your wonderful feedback and encouragement.

Sparkling Cherries: Glad you liked the fight scenes – they are, as always, the most challenging scenes for me to write and so it's always encouraging to hear they came off okay. Thanks for compliments!

Ilovedrew88: Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Thanks for the review!

Zeria: Tension? What tension? (just kidding…) Consider the bone tossed. (wink, wink.) Thanks again for all the wonderful feedback and encouragement.

**Providence **

**Chapter 15**

_Providence_ (prov-i-dence). **noun**: 1.Timely preparation for future eventualities; Care or preparation in advance; foresight. 2. The prudence and care exercised by someone in the management of resources. 3.The protective care of God or of nature as a spiritual power.

* * *

"So are you ever going to talk to her?" Les wanted to know.

They were situated, once again, in the small meeting room in the command centre. Les was currently pacing back and forth as Darryl continued to look over some papers he had spread out across the surface of the round table placed at one end of the room. Meanwhile, seated at his desk on the opposite side, Chris looked up from his reports blankly, "Are you talking to me?"

Les narrowed his eyes in exasperation, "Of course I'm talking to you. Who else would I be talking to?"

Chris blinked at Les' tone, before explaining mildly, "I don't know. Darryl, perhaps?"

"Why would I ask _Darryl_ if he was ever going to talk to Bianca again?" Les pointed out rather crossly.

Genuinely confused, Chris shook his head, "I'm not following you. Come again?"

"Am I speaking a foreign language?" Les asked rhetorically, throwing his hands up in the air in an exaggerated gesture. He heaved a sigh before pointing his finger at Chris, "Bianca. Are you ever going to talk to her again?"

"Of course I am," Chris shot his friend a dirty glance. "Just…not right now. I'm sort of busy." As if to illustrate his defensive statement, Chris began to shuffle his papers rather obviously.

"So then when?" Les pressed impatiently.

"I don't know!" Chris threw back, annoyed. "Why are you on my case anyways? You don't even _like_ Bianca. Why do you care if I ever talk to her again or not?"

"Because you're both _killing_ me…" Les moaned, as he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead mock-dramatically. "The lingering looks, the wistful glances, the heartfelt sighs…I feel like I'm trapped in some badly written romance novel. Hook up already, will you!"

Chris gaped at his friend in stunned silence.

"I think," Darryl cleared his throat, deciding to interrupt Les' rather disturbing display of theatrical non-talent, "What Les is so…inelegantly…trying to say is that you've been avoiding her. Like the other day in the hallway, you didn't even _look_ at her when she said 'hi.' But then later, in the mess hall, you couldn't keep your eyes off of her the entire time while she was sitting clear across the other side of the room."

"Darryl! I was in the middle of a heated argument with Odin in that hallway! I couldn't suddenly stop just to be polite to her!" Chris protested defensively. "And at dinner, she was talking with Theresa at the mess hall…I couldn't just interrupt."

"Look," Les jumped in, "all we're saying is there's something going on between you two, then fine. I'm not saying I approve of you getting together with a former assassin, but this whole 'will they or won't they' is interfering with your work."

"The key word here being 'former', right?" Chris replied rather stiffly. "And I wasn't aware that it impacted my responsibilities at all."

"Les is right," Darryl agreed. "You've missed weapons training and hand-to-hand ever since Bianca took over teaching those classes. You, more than anyone, need to keep up with your combat training ever since Wyatt's put a bounty on your head."

Shortly after returning from the big fight for the train station, Les had mentioned to Darryl and Chris about putting Bianca's skills to use. With her training and background, she had been the perfect choice to take over offensive combat classes. She was merciless in her teachings; Chris had heard more than a few complaints of the brutal sessions. She pushed her students to exhaustion, her wooden practice sword endowing more than one Resistance fighter with a painful bruise for a souvenir.

"I've been busy!" Looking for any sign of vulnerability in either man's stoic visages and finding none, Chris rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll talk to her. Okay?"

Darryl nodded while Les looked at the clock on the wall rather pointedly, "She should be finishing up combat training for the newbies right about now."

"Now?" Chris squeaked, paling slightly. "You want me to talk to her now? What am I going to talk to her about?"

Les shook his head in slow amazement, "Did I just experience an episode of narcolepsy the last five minutes? Go talk to her about _her_. And you. You and her."

"I'm not sure I'm ready for this," Chris said a little nervously, remaining seated at his desk.

"Chris, this isn't something you can prepare for," Darryl's mouth quirked into a small semblance of a smile. Amused, he advised, "Just be yourself."

Sighing, Chris shoved his chair back and got up. Eyeing his two friends rather irritably, pointing his finger in an accusatory fashion in their direction, "I'm only doing this now because the two of you won't shut up about it until I do. For the record, I _was_ going to talk to her about…_it_…eventually. As soon as things settled down."

"Things never settle down," Darryl shrugged. "And if you keep waiting for them to, you may never have that opportunity again. Or haven't you learned anything?"

"You're right," Chris sobered for a moment. Nodding resolutely, he left the room, throwing over his shoulder as he exited, "Thanks."

The door closed.

"You know – some people might call what you just did cheating," Darryl mused out loud.

"Helping…_helping_, Darryl," Les insisted, pretending offence. "Can I help if I'm a hopeless romantic?"

Darryl's eyebrows shot up into his hairline, "And how much is in the pool?"

"8 chocolate bars, 3 offers to trade shifts and 2 KP duties," Les rubbing his hands gleefully.

"So what day did you have picked for the pool?" Darryl asked, referring to the 'will they or won't they' get together pool that Les was running on Chris and Bianca.

Les' smile widened. "Today."

* * *

God, he was tired.

They had won the train station, but at an incredible cost of human lives. Meanwhile, it seemed as if the loss had barely affected Wyatt. He had pulled back his demons, yes, temporarily; but they were still continuing to nibble at their perimeter, forcing the Resistance to give up ground here and there. The steady deterioration of their borders was causing Chris sleepless nights.

Silently, Chris walked through the halls, deep in thought, nodding absently to friends and strangers alike as he passed them, heading to his favourite place. Regardless of what he had just told Darryl and Les, he needed to be alone with his thoughts right now as he tried to sort his thoughts and feelings out.

The funny thing was, he knew how he felt. The connection with Bianca was real…tangible. There was something between them – he was positive, which, with time, could easily grow into a deep relationship. What he needed to sort out was what to do. Oh, he knew Darryl and Les thought he was avoiding Bianca because he was afraid. And he was, in a way. As much as Darryl and Les seemed to think it was a no brainer, there were other concerns he needed to consider.

Lately he had begun to feel increasingly alone. The war had wrought a change in him, beating his hopes and dreams until they resembled nothing more than a pile of meaningless drivel, leaving him feeling tired and drained. Part of the despair was rooted in his belief that they were fighting a losing battle. He had looked at a map of their borders and a tally of their pitiful numbers, and he knew…

He didn't dare voice his feelings to Darryl.

Instead, he functioned. He read reports, he gave commands and pretended they still had a fighting chance – yet his real self lived apart from the daily events in some sort of mental stasis from which friends and family departed one by one. A relationship could give him that stability again…that companionship he so missed and desperately craved. But was that a reason to pursue one? It seemed, at best, selfish on his part.

Reaching the place he was looking for, he put his shoulder to the steel cover, pushing upwards. Emerging into the light, he shivered as the wind hit his face. The sun was setting, giving the air an almost forlorn quality.

He silently questioned his own good sense as his practical side kicked in. The voice in his head reiterated that war was no time to pursue a relationship. In fact, it was probably the _worst_ time. He'd seen the way it had impacted those around him. Darryl was but a shadow of his former self. He knew of others who were simply so traumatized by the loss of their loved ones that they'd retreated into a catatonic state. And those who were still together? More often than not, one partner suffered from incredible anxiety and worry when separated from their loved one. Worse, he'd seen examples of individuals who lost all their nerve on the battlefield, terrified that they would lose their life and never see the ones they loved so much ever again, rendering them useless.

While he sympathized and felt for all of them, he knew he didn't have the luxury to give in to any of those feelings. _Ever._ Too many people were counting on him.

So was it any wonder he didn't have the desire, much less the energy, to pursue a relationship?

It all seemed rather obvious.

He smiled bitterly and kicked at an imaginary stone.

On the one hand, he longed for a relationship with Bianca…someone to share his thoughts and feelings with. Someone with whom he could be _himself_ with, who could understand his strengths and accept his weaknesses.

It had been so long since he'd felt _anything _in the way of joy, let alone love. Was it so selfish of him to want a little something for himself?

He froze.

There, invading his special place, was the very person giving him all this inner turmoil, not to mention an ulcer.

_Bianca_.

He studied her silently, knowing that with her back to him, he could do so unseen. Her hair billowed in the cool, brisk breeze and he could see she was shivering slightly as she pushed herself back and forth on the swings.

Obviously, he wasn't the only one who came to this place to think.

What had Sheila said to him?

_Let love into your heart and into your life again, sweetheart. I promise you that you'll be better off for it._

Would he?

Maybe there was only one way to find out.

* * *

She rocked herself side to side on one of the swings. Shivering, she drew up the collar of her coat and huddled deeper into the snug fabric. Around her, the wind whistled, blustering and sending dead leaves skittering across the deserted children's playground in its wake.

She had come here to be alone.

To think.

She'd seen the looks from those on base. She'd heard the whispering, the accusatory glares…where once there had been acceptance and friendship there was only distrust and wariness now.

At least she had her weapons training classes. There, she was able to show everyone how the Phoenixes had earned the reputation of being 'elite.' She had three sessions a day, and she drove all her students to the brink of collapse. She was a hard taskmaster, but no one _ever_ complained about her classes. At least, not to her face. They knew that what she was teaching them was more than just weapons training – these were survival skills. And if she was a little hard on them – so be it. A _whack!_ from Bianca's practice blade when she corrected their mistakes was a small price to pay if it meant they would remember to never make the same error again on the battlefield.

Those hours were the only ones where she actually felt comfortable in her own skin. Even better, the classes kept her busy and away from the general populace; like her inability to participate in actual military operations, it would require too much trust from those who were ready to still believe the worst.

Meal times were excruciating. Pretty much the only person who would still speak with her was Theresa. The other woman had seen her all alone and taken pity on her; there were still awkward silences, but at least Theresa wasn't afraid of her.

Unable to bear the scrutiny a minute more, she'd fled to this corner of the base. The very place where she first realized she had changed.

She glanced in the direction of the empty bench, her mind easily picturing the memory of her attempt to kill Chris.

She shook herself.

Killing was a part of her past. As was Wyatt and everyone else connected with her past 'career'. She grimaced slightly. At least – the killing of innocents was in the past. Like ghosts, she knew that her past would haunt her for the rest of her life.

She hadn't wanted to fall in love. Especially not with the man she had been sent to kill. But he had wormed his way into her heart, and no matter how hard she tried, he refused to be displaced.

She stretched her hand out to collect some snow and the flakes melted from the warmth of her palm. Snow, though not unheard of, had once been a rare instance in California. No longer. As with many other things, Wyatt's magic had affected even the weather it seemed. She puffed out her breath, watching the condensation form in the cold, brisk air. Where was Chris? Since they had returned to base, he'd been swamped with a million things to do as his responsibility as leader of the Resistance. She wondered if he was also using those tasks as an excuse to avoid her. And would he even be willing to talk to her after everything that had happened? The other day she'd seen him in the hall and he had barely acknowledged her salutation. She'd tried not to dwell on the sharp pain that had inflected her heart at his rather obvious avoidance.

Then again, it wasn't as if he'd ever indicated he even remotely returned her affections.

_Well_, she thought unhappily, _there was that time in the mess hall…he seemed interested then. Of course, that was before I tried to kill him. _

She thought back to her assassination attempt. _He was concerned more about me then he was that I tried to kill him. _She grimaced again. _Knowing him, he was just showing the same concern he would to any person he thought was in distress and was trying to kill him._

Neither thought was encouraging.

Pushing her feet into the hard ground, she tilted the swing back. Letting her feet dangle in the air, she let the swing pull her idly back and forth.

"Bianca."

She jerked her head in the direction of her name, "Chris?"

Stepping forward, she watched as he approached her slowly. The snowflakes continued to fall, sticking to his chestnut hair and clothes, melting as they landed on his face. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his jeans and his denim jacket seemed too thin to provide any warmth. His breath came out in a mist, "You couldn't pick someplace warmer?"

Her heart ached at the sight of him. She shrugged casually, "I like the cold. It suits me."

His green eyes met hers steadily, "No, it doesn't."

"Doesn't it?" Bianca shot back, slightly angered that he seemed to think he knew everything about her. "You don't know me."

"No, no, I don't," Chris agreed, taking the wind out of her sails. He paused significantly, "But…I'd like to."

Her eyes fell away from his, her heart pounding, studying the ground beneath her feet rather intently, "You…you would?"

Chris leaned on the metal framework of the swing post, "Yeah. Yeah, I would."

Her eyes swung up to meet his. Fear leapt into her throat as she croaked, "What about…what about everyone else? Your friends? Les? They don't trust me. Everyone…everyone hates me."

"Everyone doesn't _hate_ you," Chris replied patiently. "And this is between you and me. Not me and everyone."

Her heart sank. She shook her head, sadly. "No. It _is_ between you and me _and_ everyone. Chris – you have to face facts. You're their leader, their friend. What they think, what they feel – it would impact any sort of relationship we tried to have."

Chris sighed. "And I'm not saying it wouldn't. You're absolutely right – those friendships are important to me. But you're important to me, too."

"They don't trust me," Bianca whispered. "They never will."

"Did you give them a reason to?" Chris countered. "Trust is a precious commodity. Once you lose it, you have to earn it back."

Hearing the truth in his words, she flinched, feeling hurt and, acting instinctively, lashed out and retaliated, "Where'd you get that from? A fortune cookie?"

"Hey – I'm on _your_ side, Bianca. It's going to take time. You can't expect everyone just to forget everything you've done and forgive you," Chris replied. "But that's the great thing about being human. It's our capacity to forgive. Give them some time…I know they'll come around."

"It won't be easy," Bianca cautioned, the emotional roller coaster sending her hopes soaring.

Chris shrugged. "Nothing worth fighting for ever is. I think we found that out together these past few days." He paused, before continuing, "So what do you want to do?"

It was such an innocuous question. She thought about everything that had happened since she first met Chris. Her life as an assassin seemed so long ago. It seemed so far removed from the destiny she had been given as a child. From that time to when her coven voted to side with Wyatt to her mother's death, no one had ever, _ever_, wanted to know what _she_ wanted. And now, finally, someone was asking _her_ what she wanted.

_What do I want to do?_, she asked herself. _What do _I_ want?_ And because she'd never been asked before, she hadn't really thought about it – because she never thought she would have a chance to. Looking into Chris' green eyes, the choice was clear, at least to her. She gathered her courage, feeling her heart in her mouth, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. She opened her mouth and heard herself reply wistfully, "To start again."

He straightened, his gaze steady, stretching his hand out towards her to pull her into his embrace. Unable to look away, Bianca searched his eyes, brilliant with heat and emotion. He took a step forward. Peering into their depths, she felt her own close against the strength of the emotions blazing from his.

Their breaths mingled, and she held herself perfectly still, her lips tilting upwards to meet his. It seemed that she had waited an eternity for this kiss. As he closed the distance between them, she realized that nothing could describe the intense feelings coursing through her.

Nothing could describe this perfect moment.

As his lips touched hers, she heard him murmur, "Then welcome to providence."

_Providence_, she thought before her mind became all jumbled, _indeed_.

The End.

**

* * *

AUTHOR'S FINALNOTES:**

Anyone who's been following my stories know I have a tendency for overly long author's notes/musings…feel free to skip to the p.s. part if all you care about is learning the fate (pun intended) of 'Redundant'.

In writing Redundant, I found myself 'trapped' within the confines of the universe of 'Charmed' as the story supposedly takes place in the 'present.' That's when I decided I'd rather revisit Chris' story where I could let my imagination take me where it would…the future which _wasn't_ established (well, not really…) in the Charmed canon and hence, Providence came to being.

I quickly discovered that the problem with writing prequels is that everyone knows how the story will 'end.' I found myself wanting to kill off characters to create tension and suspense, but couldn't because they appeared in 'No Fate'! I desperately tried to think of ways to keep the storyline suspenseful – I wanted my story to have twists and turns to keep the reader interested even though the ending of the story was pretty much set. I wanted the reader to stop and say, "Well, I didn't see _that_ coming!"

I once saw an interview with George Lucas who was explaining how he came about the story for the prequels to Star Wars. He explained when he wrote the original Star Wars, he had to come up with a 'back story' for each character – I guess he kept them for present use. When I wrote 'No Fate' I had a vague idea of how Chris' life in the future (or is it his past?) would have been like but I hadn't really expected to revisit it in a story and didn't pay much attention to the details I invented in 'No Fate.' Too bad I didn't keep notes like George Lucas…

No matter what else he has done (they killedChris!), I give credit to Brad Kern for introducing a character that inspired my imagination and allowed me to explore my creative writing ability. I also want to give credit to the many great fan fiction authors (Storydiva, Zeria, teal-lover, IcantthinkofaFnick…to name but just a few in the Charmed community) out there – I was originally a lurker for almost a whole year before I decided to give it a go. Thank you for sharing your wonderful creations and providing me with the inspiration to share my own.

**Many thanks must also go to those readers** whose encouragement provided me with the drive to start and complete each story. There is nothing more satisfying and uplifting to know that there are people out there who enjoy your writings. Who knows what chapters would not have been written if not for you?

Lastly, I hope that you've enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Allons-y!

Jenna

P.S.

I will revisit Redundant next as promised. However, I am going to try to take a short hiatus before I start up again, hopefully, sometime in the fall. Of the 4 stories I've posted, I can honestly say that Redundant is the one story I'm unhappy with in this arc - I don't like it as I think it's sloppily written. I've decided that I will be re-writing it completely. What does that mean? I'm not quite sure yet, so I'll provide more details in the first re-post once I've started the overhaul. I will say this – if you like Redundant the way it is, you may want to save it to your computer…I'm not sure what plot lines will stay and what will change, (or even if the title will remain the same) but I'm fairly certain it WILL change pretty significantly.


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